Page 44 of A Guy Walks Into My Bar
“So good,” he adds quickly.
I square my shoulders, unable to let this go. “For the record, I’m not interested in relationships. I’m not interested in anything more than what this is,” I say, pointing from Dean to me and back.
His jaw ticks. “This is what it is, Fitz. It’s not anything more.” His dark eyes narrow, like I’ve gone too far and he needs to correct me. “You don’t have to act like I’m one of your boys on the road who doesn’t know any better. Who thinks he can shag an athlete and keep him around.”
“I’m not acting that way,” I say indignantly, wrapping my hands around the railing.
Dean gives a nonchalant shrug, but his words aren’t casual. “You kind of are. You’re acting, for some utterly absurd reason, like I’m some sort of lost soul, looking to attach myself to you.” He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t shout. He simply speaks in a cool, calm tone here on Tower Bridge. “I have a life here, one I love,” Dean says, taking off his shades, and his eyes aren’t hot like I’m used to. They’re ice-cold, and they’re chilling my blood. “I have my bar—that’s my home. I have my father and the things we do together. I’m having dinner with him tomorrow night, and this weekend we’re restoring a chair. And I have Sam, and Naveen and Anya, and Taron. And Maeve, most of all. You don’t need to keep reminding me that this is a fling. I was there yesterday when we made the rules. I’m not going to break them.” He draws a deep breath, then goes quieter when he finishes with “James.”
The way Dean says my name stabs me.
Like an ice pick in the chest.
It’s cold, and I deserve it.
Because I did piss him off. I started this. I pushed us into an argument by drawing a line in the sand over and over, by saying, Don’t step over this, no, really, don’t step over this. I should have stuck to sex and laughter, to what I’m good at. I’m shit at anything more because I don’t do anything more, not with anyone.
But I also know this—I don’t want to be the guy who puts that look in Dean’s eyes. Because he’s staring at me like I am a dick.
And I’m pretty sure I just acted like one.
My chest pinches, and regret swirls inside me.
Even though we won’t ever be anything more, I want the now of us to be as good as it was last night, and this morning, and in between.
I speak to him in the one language I’m most fluent in—the physical.
I grab his face, hold his cheeks, and meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, then I kiss his luscious lips, trying to say I’m sorry that way too. When the kiss ends, he still looks annoyed, but not as much. “I just want to have fun with you. I didn’t mean to go overboard about the rules. I know you get it. Sometimes I worry because—”
“Because others have wanted more from you?” he asks gently.
I nod, thinking of the times a hookup has asked to go home with me, to stay for breakfast, to go to the movies or brunch. “Yeah. But I bet that happens to you too. You’re a catch, Dean. I’m sure all the guys want you.”
“I’m sure they all want you,” he says, and the chill has begun to thaw.
I drag a hand through my hair, hunting for the best way to make it clear that I’m a happy camper with the status quo, and that I bet he is too. “I don’t want to make it seem like you’re like them. I get it. I get you. You and me,” I say, patting his chest, then mine. “We’re the same. We’re happy with our lives as they are. No need to change things, right?”
A tiny sliver of a smile seems to tug at his lips. “We are the same. No strings, no expectations. We’ll just enjoy the next few days. I won’t call you James again.”
I offer a fist for knocking. “Knock me, bro.”
He folds his arms across his chest, but he smiles. “No. There will be no ‘bro.’ No knocking.”
“Hey! I just realized I don’t even know your last name.”
His brown eyes twinkle. “Ah, maybe it’s better that way. So you can’t track me down after the affair is over.”
I roll my eyes, sighing heavily. “All right. Serve it up. You know I’m not tracking you down.”
“Collins. Dean Collins,” he says. Then he extends a hand. “Let’s make a deal. I won’t use James when I’m mad, because you won’t make me mad, and you won’t have any need to use Collins. Because neither one of us will do anything to piss off the other in the next seventy-two hours.”
