Her lips purse, like she’s trying to ask a question. As I move to the tie and unknot it fully, leaving it undone around my neck, I keep up the words—I’ve always loved words, and shaping them into just the right argument to make a point. Now, I need all the letters of the alphabet to let this woman know I want her to look beyond the idiot I was eight years ago. She prizes honesty, so I give her more of the bare truth. “I was a stupid, twenty-two-year-old cocky, conceited jerk.”
She blinks as I pull my shirt from the waistband of my slacks. “What on earth are you doing here?” She waves wildly at my unbuttoned shirt, like I’m a brainteaser about two trains in opposite directions entering a one-way tunnel at twelve o’clock.
“I’m your ten a.m. massage, and I’m here to say I’m sorry.”
“You booked a massage?” she asks, like that statement makes the train puzzler even more confusing.
I nod. “I sure did. A massage and an apology for the way I cut you out of my life.”
She runs a hand through her hair, still processing the riddle of me. And, for the record, two trains can enter that one-way tunnel without colliding—one goes in at noon, the other at midnight.
She parks her hands on her hips. “You know, Tyler. That really hurt,” she says, and I can hear the pain in her voice. The sound of it hooks into my heart.
I nod. “I understand why it would, and it was something I thought I had to do. But I can see now that I could have handled it a lot differently. In so many ways.” I hope she can hear the honesty in my voice as I pull the loose tie from around my neck. Her eyes follow my every move, drifting down to the green silk in my hands. She nibbles her lip, a tell if I ever saw one. “Your favorite color. I wore it for you,” I say, trying to get our flirt on again.
“I love ties.” Her words tell me one thing, but her delivery says another. She bites out each word like they cost her something. “And I can’t believe you had the audacity to wear my favorite color.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Audacity is my middle name. Besides, why would I wear anything but your favorite color?”
She snaps her gaze away from me. “I can’t even look at that tie right now.”
I shrug and toss the tie on the stool in the corner of the room. “Out of sight. Out of mind.”
Slowly, she turns back to me. “Good.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s out of my mind, too.”
Time to put something else in her mind then.
And so, I undress for her. Because sometimes you’ve got to give it your all. Show a woman you’re willing to bare your heart for her.
And, let’s be honest, your body.
Look, you’ve got to play to your strengths when you’re negotiating. You need to know what your opponent wants. And sometimes you need to give them what they can’t resist. I’m in excellent shape, fit as a fucking fiddle, and I work out hard. Delaney used my body as her playground once upon a time. She loved getting naked with me.
Let’s do this.
Off goes one sleeve, then the next. I toss it behind me. My hands reach for my belt.
“Tyler,” she says, but her voice hardly sounds like a protest. She sounds half turned on, half pissed.
I focus on the first half. Glass half full and all. “And I listened to you. You said I needed to do it properly and to mean it. So, I’m taking a chance, like I did when we met in college and I kept asking you to go out with me,” I say, unhooking the belt buckle.
She arches a brow. “Like that time you showed up at the snack bar, plopped down next to me, and asked what it would take to get me to finally go out with you?”
“And you said, ‘An ice cream sundae with chocolate sprinkles.’ The snack bar didn’t carry sprinkles, so I went out and found some. And then you said yes.”
She shakes her head, like she’s all discombobulated. “That was different than this,” she says, waving her hand up and down my body.
“But do you want me to stop? I could get chocolate sprinkles this time, too, if that helps.” I yank the belt from the loops and let the leather fall to the tiled floor.
Her lips part, and she stares—simply stares at my hands poised above my zipper. No answer comes, so I trust she wants me to do the opposite of stop—she wants me to keep it up.
I slide open the button on my pants.
She inhales sharply. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you I’m sorry. Meaning it. And asking you out one more time.”
Her eyebrows knit together. A tiny smile tugs at her lips. But then she erases it, pointing at me. “You can’t just come in here and strip.”
“But isn’t that what I’m supposed to do before a massage?” I tilt my head like I’m trying to remember. “I’m pretty sure fully clothed is not the proper attire.”
“You know damn well that fully clothed isn’t the proper attire. But you also know stripping isn’t how it’s done, either.”
I furrow my brow again. “How else would I get down to the appropriate state of undress then?” I ask, tossing the question back at her.
She heaves a frustrated sigh. “Mr. Pollock. You’re completely ridiculous.”
“Yes, I am. But I was a persistent bastard in college, and I got you to go out with me. I’m hoping it will do the trick again.”
And the rest goes quickly. I unzip my pants, push them to my hips then down, and her eyes pop wide.