“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?”
I bit my lip. “A couple months, I guess?”
He nodded. “Where did we meet?”
“I thought about that. Maybe the art supply store? I teach art at an elementary school during the week,” I explained, “and the wedding is a co-worker’s, so we can’t say we met there.”
“You’re a teacher.” He said it like he was impressed. “Can I call you Miss French?”
“No.”
He sighed. “You’re no fun. So, art supply store. Am I an artist? What’s my occupation?”
“I don’t know. What about your real one? Aren’t you a pilot?”
He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes as if he had to think about whether he was or not. “I wouldn’t really call that an occupation. It’s more of a hobby.”
I stared at him. “I don’t understand. What do you do for a living besides hire yourself out on dates all over the country?”
“How do you know I do anything?” He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, a cocky grin on his face. “Maybe I’m independently wealthy.”
“Maybe you’re a serial killer.”
“I promise I am not a serial killer.”
“Good.”
“Just a lady-killer. Kidding, kidding,” he said when I gave him a dirty look. “For fuck’s sake, you gotta lighten up a little bit, Claire. Don’t take everything so seriously.”
“I’m sorry, but this is a big deal to me, and I’m worried. I’m going to be lying to co-workers and friends all night, and I’m a terrible actress.”
“Don’t worry, I’m probably good enough for both of us.”
“You’re not helping.” I put my face in my hands. “God, this is never going to work.”
“Why do it at all?” he asked. “Why not just go alone?”
I peeked through my fingers at him. “Ever sat at the singles table at a wedding?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
Slouching in my chair, I dropped my hands to my lap. “Trust me when I say that it’s a fate worse than death. But I have no good prospects at the moment, and I’m tired of all the single jokes.”
He shrugged, leaning forward again. “OK, so we’re gonna go together and have a great fucking time and show them all how not-single you are. You’ve got a pilot who’s crazy about you.”