I shook my head. “No wonder your growth is stunted. You know, I was lying about the tree thing, but I do think if you ate healthier, you’d feel better. Maybe even grow a little.”
“This is why I didn’t want to let you in.”
“OK, OK. Suit yourself.” I should have stopped there, but something in me loved the way I could still rile her up. “But I’d be happy to share some of my tips for healthy eating and living with you if you’d like. Do you exercise?” I took her face in my hands, tilted it this way and that. Her complexion was beautiful, her skin like porcelain. “And look how pale you are—are you inside all day?”
“It’s January in Michigan!” she said, leaning away from me. “Of course I’m pale!”
“Well, a brisk walk outside won’t kill you. Vitamin D is important.” I grabbed my wine off the counter and took a sip to cover the grin on my face.
She glared at me. “This conversation is over. And if you don’t stop making fun of me, this visit is over too.”
“I didn’t mean any offense by that, Jaime. You look perfect. You’re beautiful.”
“That’s not what you said a minute ago.”
“What I said wasn’t based on how you look—it was based on what you eat. Mostly.”
She cocked her head. “Why do you care what I eat, anyway? You haven’t spoken to me in ten years.”
“I know. But you’re like a little sister to me, and I—”
She groaned and flashed one palm at me. “Please. Not that again.”
“Sorry.” I had to smile at the blush painting her face. “How about friends? Can we be friends?”
“I don’t know.” She eyed me with skepticism, swirling her wine.
“Oh, you're one of those,” I teased.
“One of those what?”
“One of those people who believe men and women can’t be friends.” Leaning back against the counter opposite the fridge, I took another drink. “At least, not if they’re attracted to one another.”
“I never said I was attracted to you!” she blustered. “I’m sure you’ve had women all over the world fall at your feet, but I’m not one of them. At least—” She fidgeted, then stood a little taller. Well, taller for her. “Not now. Not anymore.”
“Of course not.”
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked indignantly.
“I would never. I’m just happy to see you again. I want to get to know you.” (I was totally laughing at her.)
“And I never said men and women couldn’t be friends, either.” She jerked her chin at me.
Fuck, that dimple. I wanted to kiss it. Actually, I wanted to rub it with the tip of my cock, but I tried not to think about that too hard. What was she saying now?
“I have lots of male friends,” she insisted.
“Oh. My mistake.” While I calmly took another sip of wine (this took some effort, since I couldn’t stop thinking about my dick on her chin), she gulped hers, clearly flustered. “So tell me about grown-up Jaime. What does she do?”
“I’m a social media specialist at a marketing firm.”
“Do you like it?”
“For the most part. Sometimes I wish I got to do more of the creative stuff, more of the research and whole campaign strategy, but I’ve only been at this a couple years. I get that I have to work my way up.”
“What do you do for fun? Hang out with all your male friends?”
She rolled her eyes. “My closest friends are actually women. Do you remember Claire French and Margot Lewiston from school?”
I nodded. “Yes. You three together were nothing but trouble back then.”
“Ha. We’re less trouble now, but still together.”
“That’s awesome, to have friends like that, to be so close for so many years.”
She tilted her head. “Didn’t you have good friends in L.A.?”
I shrugged. “I had a few. But I traveled a lot.”
“What about a girlfriend?”
“One or two. Nothing serious.”
She sighed dramatically. “I suppose it’s hard to have a serious girlfriend what with young women throwing themselves at you all the time.”
I nodded. “And older women too. Don’t forget them.”
“Come on, older women like your bathroom mirror selfies? What’s with that, anyway? You’re so vain you have to capture yourself in a towel capturing yourself in a towel?”
I cocked a brow. “Now who’s making fun? And does this mean you follow me on Instagram?”
She lifted her shoulders, like she couldn’t remember if she did or not, but her cheeks looked like two splotches of wine on a white linen tablecloth. “I follow a lot of people.”
“Right.” God, she was fucking delightful. So different from most women I met—so determined to put me in my place. “And what about you? Boyfriend?”
She snorted, lifting her glass. “No. I don’t do relationships.”
“And why’s that?”
“I work a ton, I don’t like anything to interfere with my girl time or my alone time, and I’m not a good girlfriend. Every guy I date more than a few times wants more than I can give.”
“More what? More time? More emotion? More sex?”
“Let’s go with time and emotion,” she said, looking me in the eye. “I’m all for no-strings sex. But like I told you earlier, I don’t believe in love.”