Home > Floored (Frenched #3)(23)

Floored (Frenched #3)(23)
Author: Melanie Harlow

A second later I heard the door open again. I fastened my bra and stood up too fast, grabbing the barre when my vision clouded. I stayed still as the fog cleared.

“Everything OK?” Charlie’s voice came from behind me.

“I already said it was.”

“I know, but you’re standing there holding onto that barre for dear life. I know I’m good, but I don’t think I’ve ever paralyzed a woman before.”

I gave him a dirty look over my shoulder. “I’m not paralyzed. I’m just dizzy. I got up too fast.”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Listen, Erin…” He jingled his keys in his hands, and I turned to face him.

Oh no. Please don’t apologize, Charlie. I will die.

“I don’t want you to think that I just came back here tonight to, uh, fool around with you.”

“Oh, thank God.” My shoulders relaxed. “I thought you were going to say you were sorry.”

His eyes widened. “Sorry? No, I’m not sorry at all. Are you sorry?”

“No. I’m not. I mean, I don’t really get what we’re doing with each other, but…” I ran a thumbnail along the barre, scraping at some nail polish someone had gotten on it. “I’m not sorry.”

“I don’t really get it either.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. “There’s just something about you. And when you came on to me like that…”

I gaped at him. “Wait, you’re blaming me? After ditching your date and showing up here at eleven o’clock at night with takeout and beer?”

“Calm down, I’m not blaming anyone. I just meant that I don’t usually go for your type.”

I continued to gawk at him, finally placing a hand to my chest. “I’m not your type? Ha!”

“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.”

   
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