Page 30 of Floored (Frenched 3)
“No, not really.”
“And what’s your type exactly?”
He shrugged. “It’s not a looks thing. You’re gorgeous, I’ve already told you that much. It’s more of a…compatibility thing.”
“Aha. I see. We’re not compatible.” I bent down and tugged on my sneakers, my face on fire. Was he breaking up with me before we even had one real date? What an asshole! “I definitely think you’re right about that. We are not compatible at all.”
“Oh good, you agree.” He sounded relieved.
“I do indeed. But I’m curious.” Straightening, I stuck my hands on my hips. “What exactly is it about me that you find so repellent?”
“I don’t find you repellent. It’s just…you know. You’re a nice girl, a relationship kind of girl. And I’m not that kind of guy.”
“I know you’re not. Because you told me that the first time you came over. And I’m pretty sure I haven’t done or said one thing since then that would lead you to believe I want a relationship with you.”
“No,” he admitted. “You haven’t.”
“Good. Because I don’t, far from it. So stop making me feel like you’re letting me down easy or something.”
“I’m not doing that at all, Erin. I’m just trying to be honest. Look, this has
happened to me before, where I sleep with a girl I’m friends with and she swears it’s cool but then she ends up getting all attached to me and I look like a big asshole when she wants more from me than I can give.”
“More than you can give? Or more than you’re willing to give?” I have no idea why I asked that. It wasn’t like I was interested.
Much.
He sighed. “More than I’m capable of giving at this point in my life.”
I stuck out my lower lip. “Poor Charlie. His magic dick makes women fall in love with him but he’s incapable of feeling.”
He looked offended. “I didn’t say I was incapable of feeling—I said I couldn’t offer more than…friendly relations every now and again. And you forgot about my magic tongue.”
My thigh muscles twitched. I’d never forget about his magic tongue, not for a thousand years. That was why I had to take a step back, get some lights on in here. “Well, either way,” I said, heading for the door. “You don’t have to worry about me getting attached. You’re not my type, either.” Flipping every switch up, I squinted at the sudden brightness.
“Oh no?” Charlie leaned back against the barre, crossing his legs at the ankle. “What type is that? I’m just curious. Wait, let me guess. Suit and tie, or maybe a lab coat. Yeah, that’s it—a doctor. He drives a shiny black Lexus, the inside of which is impeccable. No crumbs, no coffee spills, no To Go cups tossed on the floor in the back seat.”
I ignored him and picked up a hammer, going to work on the strip of oak along the back wall. I’d planned on finishing the tear-out tomorrow, but suddenly I felt like smashing and destroying something. Or everything. Charlie took my silence as confirmation he was right about my dream man, or at least as an indication that he was close enough for me to be annoyed.
Confession: He was close enough for me to be annoyed.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” He went on, delighted with himself, speaking louder over the noise I made with the hammer. “And he takes you on dates to the ballet or the Opera House, after which you have dinner at the Whitney, where he saves someone from choking with the Heimlich maneuver or maybe delivers a baby in the parking lot without getting even a speck of blood on his silk tie with the Eldredge knot.”
Bang! Bang! Bang! I hammered away at the solid oak like it was Charlie’s chiseled abs. Shut the hell up, Charlie Dwyer! What would you know about the Eldredge knot!? Do you even own a tie?
“Of course, Dr. Perfect is handsome and charming and everyone adores him—women sigh when he walks by. But he only has eyes for you, and one day he whisks you away to Paris and there on the top of the Eiffel Tower, he gets down on one knee and proposes with a great big shiny twenty-five carat diamond—the cleanest, the purest diamond known to man.”
Seriously, this doctor man was sounding better and better by the minute, which only made me madder. I dropped the hammer and picked up the crowbar, trying to pry a stubborn plank.
Crack! The oak split when I pulled hard enough, sending me toppling back onto my bottom. Charlie was there in two quick steps to pull me up. “You OK?”
“I’m fine, really. Go on with your story. Sounds like you’re about to get to the good part. How’s the doctor in the sack?” I was a little out of breath from the labor and from the boiling anger I felt at Charlie. Which was stupid, really. He was saying things I already knew, at least where he and I were concerned. There was no we. There could never be a we.
There was him and there was me, and there was what we’d just done, and I was starting to question my judgment on that.
“In the sack?” Charlie held on to my arm and tilted his head side to side. “He’s so-so. Good enough to keep you satisfied, but not good enough to erase from your memory that one amazing night you were handcuffed to the barre.”
“My God, Charlie. The size of your ego is truly staggering.”
