Page 7 of Sweet Surrender

She does some kind of move—a half curtsy with a dip of her knees while shrugging her shoulders at the same time—almost as if she’s hoping he’ll take her up right now on whatever it is that he’ll keep in mind.

And then she proceeds to stand there staring at him, more awkward than I was being—if that’s possible—while being incredibly forward.

“Look”—I interrupt her googly-eyed stare—“whoever you think he is, he’s not him. You’re just lonely, wishing he were, so I hate to burst your bubble and all, but have some dignity, huh?”

The woman’s cupid bow of a mouth shocks open while Jase’s dimples deepen. She sputters a response that never quite forms actual words before she huffs and stalks away.

The minute she does, I feel bad. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not her fault he’s standing there emitting I’m a celebrity vibe, while I sit here coping with a shitty day, feeling insecure next to her natural beauty.

“Shit,” I mutter and then abruptly stand.

“Where are you going?” Jase’s hand is on my arm and the second the two of us realize it, the second we jolt from the connection, he takes it back.

“To apologize to her. I was a bitch. It’s not her fault I’ve had a shit day. Week. Month.” I chuckle self-deprecatingly and wonder why this man hasn’t already bolted the other way since I’m showing my true—crazy—colors right now.

“No. It’s fine. Let her go.” There’s compassion and understanding in his voice that I don’t deserve. “I want no part of that.”

I stare at his narrowed brows, grateful for the understanding and grace this stranger just gave me but needing to find my footing again.

“No part of what?”

He shakes his head ever so slightly. “Never mind.”

“Yeah, well, you need to have a bit more dignity for yourself than letting women fawn all over you like you’re someone you’re not.”

“What does it hurt if it’s going to make them feel better or brighten their day?”

“Do you know who they think you are?”

“I have a clue. Yes.”

“That means this kind of thing happens all the time then.”

“It does.” He nods and I study him closer. The hint of dark brown hair that peeks out from beneath his hoodie. The gorgeous face. The body hidden by the generic-looking sweatshirt. He could be anybody.

And nobody.

“There are enough wannabes in this town,” I say. “Isn’t it better in the long run to just be you and not pretend?”

“Depends on your perspective.”

Apparently finding my footing means I’m a Grade A bitch.

Shit.

And why is he so damn attractive when he fights that little boy smile on his seriously sexy, grown-man body?

“Forget I said that.” I hold my hands up. “I apologize. You didn’t deserve that.”

He angles his head to the side and those ice-blue eyes hold mine. “You’re right. I didn’t. And it’s a little presumptive to think I’m here asking for your number.”

It’s my turn to stutter. “I’ve sworn off men so I assure you I didn’t say that. Or even think it.”

“Yes, you did. You wouldn’t have been so protective of us and our conversation if you hadn’t.”

“Protective of us?”

“You ran off my admirer.” His words are accusatory but his smile and expression are playful.