Page 8 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“OK, Mr. Psychic. I”ll play your little game.” I set down my cup and leaned my elbows on the table. “If your instincts are so good, tell me exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted, squinting at me. “I’d have to get to know you better.”
“Ha!” I shot him an imperious look.
“But if I had to guess, I’d say you were afraid of rejection.”
Well…wasn’t everybody? While I was trying to decide how to defend myself, he went on.
“I bet you’re a hopeless romantic, and you want the kind of love you read about in books or see in the movies. You want someone perfect. But you think someone perfect won’t fall for you, for whatever reason, so you don’t really give anyone a chance. You don’t really put yourself out there.”
“That’s not true,” I blustered. “I put myself out there all the time. I go on a million terrible dates because I can’t say no to people.”
“That’s because you don’t want anyone to dislike you,” he pointed out. “Being nice is your thing. You hold the door for people, you let people cut in line, you give up your seat for others…” He glanced over toward the counter.
He was here. He watched me. “I’m polite,” I said through clenched teeth. How many times had someone told me I was too nice? It was the compliment I got most often, and lately I was beginning to think it might not actually be a compliment.
“I agree, you’re polite, but it’s more than that. Why don’t you think you deserve nice things, Claire French?” His light brown eyes danced over the rim of his cup as he took another sip.
I opened my mouth to answer the question, then slammed it shut again. What was he, some kind of psychotherapist? I did think I deserved nice things! Wasn’t that why I was holding out for someone decent and good and right for me? It wasn’t my fault it was taking so long! “Is this mental and emotional abuse part of the regular hottie package?” I fumed. “Or do I have to pay extra for it?”
He smiled. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Claire. I’m trying to help you. Give you some advice.”
I crossed my arms over my chest again. “Who are you to give me romantic advice? What kind of guy rents himself out on dates with strangers?”
“The kind of guy who moves around a lot, can have fun in any situation, and loves meeting new people.”
“Why do you move around so much? I saw on your profile you’ve had dates in like three or four different cities over the last year.”
“I’m a drifter. I get bored easily.”
That couldn’t be his whole story. I cocked a brow. “Got a wife and kids stashed somewhere?”
“Nope.”
“Where’s your family?”
“No family.”
“Where’s home?”
“The open road. The endless sky. I’m not tied to any person, place, or thing.” He said it with pride.
“That’s sad.”
He laughed. “No, it isn’t. I prefer it this way. Some people want the happy ending, all wrapped up in a nice neat bow, and others are content to let the story go on forever—that’s me. You’re looking for a destination; I like the journey. I don’t want it to end.”
When he put it like that, it was hard to argue with him. Still, I felt like there was more to his story than what he was telling me. “Where did you grow up?”
“Enough with the questions. I’m glad you’re so fascinated by me, but—”
“I’m not fascinated,” I said hotly, “I’m just curious.” But he did sort of intrigue me. Not only because he was so good-looking, but because he was so different from me. So confident, so laid-back. Content just to go where life led him, pretend to be someone new every place he went. But was that fun? Or was it lonely? And he was brave, too. Flying a plane? Taking responsibility for getting thousands of pounds of metal into the air and keeping it there? With people’s lives hanging in the balance? Good grief! I was terrified of flying. Petrified. I was dying to go to Europe and visit the Louvre and the Prado and the Uffizi Gallery, but I’d never done it because I was too scared to get on the plane that would take me there.
“So let’s talk about this wedding.” Theo leaned forward, elbows on the table. For the first time, I noticed how full his lips were. How long his lashes.
Something fluttered in my stomach, and I put a hand over it. “It’s a co-worker’s.”
“And how long have we been dating?”
