Page 28 of Legs

“Did you want me to lie?”

“But we have a deal.”

“I’m holding up my end, Sunshine.”

That nickname vacillated between sweet and claw-his-eyes-out, this particular rendition landing on vexing. “So you expect me to do a tasting with you when you’ve admitted you plan to feed me false information.”

“I have planned no such thing.”

“You just said it’s a ploy.”

“Because it is. To make you reconsider joining me for your scientific study.” The Pot Stirrer ran a finger through my hair, the edge of his nail dragging behind my ear. Goose bumps erupted in its wake.

I smacked his hand away. “Fat chance.” But one more second of his fingers stroking my hair could work in his favor. The bastard knew it. “Can you stop with the games for a moment and answer something for me?”

“Anything.”

That was quite the window of opportunity. Instead of asking my intended question—why help me when we were competing against each other—I opted for one of more value. “What happened with Sophia? I barely know you, but she doesn’t seem like your type.”

Not that I did, either. Sophia reminded me of Ainsley, primped and polished to perfection, curves for miles. A hint of jealousy had burned at the sight of her, but I’d squashed that nonsense. Jimmy wasn’t mine. But Sophia was one step from posing for Vogue, and I was a J. Crew catalogue in the making. Then there was Jimmy and his bad, bad self. None of it fit.

He pushed a hand up the back of his hair. “Sophia and I dated for two years. I looked a lot different then, more like the cardboard cutouts in the contest.”

No freaking way. “Was your hair short?”

“Yep.”

“Did you have tattoos?”

“Nope.” He popped the P at the end and winked.

The man was lethal. “I am intrigued.”

“Let’s just say it took some shitty things for me to figure out who I really was, and for me to figure out who Sophia was. When I lost the winery and my shiny future, she hitched a ride on someone else’s train.”

“Jesus.” My heart squeezed, an urge to touch him and show my empathy surging, but his lips tightened into a stern line, like they had after he’d tasted his family’s wine. I folded my hands on my lap instead, silence blanketing us. Seeing Sophia today must have been more painful than I’d realized.

Blowing out a breath, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His T-shirt rode up his back, and his black boxers peeked out. I wanted to peek in. Push his shirt up and pull his jeans down and grip the length of him, experience everything I’d lost to the haze of alcohol. Touch more, see more, know more. Ask what happened with his father and curl into his side, voices whispered as we shared our secrets.

My father would likely be unimpressed with this scenario.

I’d never erased his last voice message and would never forget our final fight. As hard as my father had worked to provide for us, my mother had worked harder to fit in with the country-club crowd. Tired of her incessant phone calls and insistence I date certain guys or wear “the right” clothes, I’d hitched a ride on Gabe’s motorcycle, staking my independence. I was twenty-two and my mother still forbade me from bringing Gabe’s tattooed, blued-haired self to a fundraiser.

My reply: “Then I’m not coming, either.”

She didn’t speak with me for weeks afterward, the whole thing culminating in a fight between my father and me.

I still played his follow-up voicemail from time to time. I’d let his apologetic words seep into my dark corners, filling me with memories and sadness…and happiness, too. Men like Gabe don’t stick around, my father had said. Boys like that are trouble. You are smart and talented and will be a success, and I don’t want anything to stand in your way. Then, But I’m sorry and I love you and We’ll chat soon.

A chat that never happened, but Gabe had proven my father right. He dumped me via text shortly afterward, saying things were too complicated for him.

My texted reply: Sorry that my dad died. Must be hard for you.

If my father were still alive, would he offer similar advice? Warn me Jimmy had been through the wringer with his family and wasn’t capable of love. That I’d fall for him only to get hurt. That he and his tattoos and motorcycle were nothing but trouble. My feelings for Gabe hadn’t been born of love or lust. Seeing him had been me thumbing the system. Giving in to my attraction to Jimmy as an adult was a different animal. A primal beast, curious and hungry. But my father’s last words swarmed my mind. Unable to clear my head, I let our silence linger.

That’s when Jimmy’s inquisition started.

Nine