Claire laughed. “OK, don’t follow him to any spaceships, but maybe you can try the whole bikini seduction again. Bet he’d go for you now.”
“Wrong. He came up here, and I’m so stupid and gullible, I invited him in for a glass of wine. Talked about myself. Tried to get him to kiss me.”
“Omigod! Why?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I have no idea. I swear to God, it came out of nowhere! One minute I’m telling him I won’t go on a date with him, and the next, I’m puckering up! He’s got some sort of weird spell on me or something!”
“Wait, he asked you for a date?”
“Yes. No. You know what? I don’t even know.” I stabbed the frosting. “He’s so damn cagey, somehow I don’t even know what he’s saying. Plus I get distracted by his face.” I shoved the frosting-coated finger in my mouth. “And his body.”
“Dang. So did he kiss you?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Who knows? To torment me? I mean…I thought he wanted to kiss me. He was flirting with me, I think.”
“You couldn’t tell?”
“No. And I hate when I can’t read people. It makes it impossible to keep the upper hand.”
“Ah,” Claire said knowingly. “The old upper hand.”
“I have to have it,” I insisted, wondering how many calories were in a can of frosting and deciding not to look. Instead I put the cap back on and stuck it in the fridge.
“I know you do. You are the master of the upper hand.”
“The mistress,” I corrected, and the thought of myself as a dominatrix made me giggle. “I need a whip.”
“Totally. Maybe you could tie him up and punish him for turning you down again.”
“Ha! He would deserve it.” I thought for a moment as I stared at the refrigerator where he’d pinned me without actually touching me. “Problem is, I think he’s the upper hand type too.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like he’s good at taking control, at getting people right where he wants them.”
She laughed again. “And where does he want you?”
“He says he wants to be friends.”
“Friends?”
“Friends. But fuck that. I’m not going to be his friend,” I said stubbornly.
“OK.”
“I’m going to ignore him until he goes away.”
“Good plan. That always works when you have a crush on someone.”
“I don’t have a crush on him!”
“No, no. I’m sorry, sweetie. Of course you don’t.”
I sighed as I turned off the kitchen light and headed down the hall to my bedroom. “But I can’t stop thinking about him. Why is that?”
“Well, what if it’s fate? I mean, what if there’s even an underlying reason he came back to town? What if it was his destiny to live in your house? What if he’s your soul mate, your one tr—”
“Claire,” I interrupted loudly. “Repeat after me. There is no such thing as a soul mate. Or destiny. Or one true love. I just want to bang him, not ride off into the sunset on his horse. And I’m annoyed he’s not cooperating.”
She clucked her tongue. “You have zero sense of romance.”
“What’s the point? Even in books, all great love stories end in tragedy. Why should real life be any different?”
Now it was Claire’s turn to sigh. “You know what? I’m beginning to think you might be right.”
It should have made me feel good that she’d finally agreed with me, that I was right, that I was good at my job—selling ideas to people—but somehow it didn’t.
It took me a long time to fall asleep that night, imagining him beneath me. (And I do mean right beneath me.)
Even a realist has to dream sometimes.
Six
JAIME
The next morning I heard the front door open and shut at an absurdly early hour for a Saturday. For one foggy moment, I was concerned about an intruder until I remembered Quinn. I bet he gets up early and goes to the gym, I thought, snuggling deeper under the covers. Fuck that noise.
But I couldn’t get back to sleep. Instead, I lay there thinking about his sweaty body, muscles flexing, breathing hard, until I finally couldn’t stand it, grabbed my vibrator, and got myself off.
Afterward, I craved him more than ever.
What the hell was I going to do?
My pride would not allow for a third attempt at seduction, not after I’d failed so miserably the first two times. What was wrong with him, anyway? Had I not made it clear that I don’t want a boyfriend, but I do want sex? What kind of guy turns down an offer like that?
It got me thinking. Who was Quinn Rusek, anyway? Maybe there was more to him than meets the eye (not that there was anything wrong with what met the eye, mind you).
I needed to focus.
I needed to figure him out.
Then I needed a strategy to make him want me.
I’d get my fill of him—literally—and then he could be on his way. Out of my house, out of my head, out of my life.
Over the next ten days, I carefully avoided talking to Quinn while at the same time paying close attention to everything he did. I even made a list:
Works out early Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday mornings.
Goes to class MWF mornings, must work out later those afternoons.
Late classes Tuesday and Thursday evenings.