Man Candy by Jessica Lemmon

Author:Jessica Lemmon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, romantic comedy, Humorous, General
Publisher: Loveswept
Published: 2018-01-09T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Becca

Is it bad that I feel like purring?

Because it feels decadent. It feels like something I shouldn’t let myself do—accept a compliment and roll around in its fluffy existence.

I shrug off his comment, but in true Dax fashion, he’s not interested in anything surface. Which is interesting in and of itself.

“You are, you know. Worth it.” He’s serious, and scowling. “Can’t get over the idea that you don’t believe your ideas have value. Why is that?”

“I can’t get over the idea that you feel the need to pry.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.

We’re a few hours from sunset, and this feels like an after-hours conversation. Yet here we sit, in the sun-dappled shade under a tree, having this conversation. I fiddle with my plate and the taco sitting there that I’m too full to eat.

“You’re asking me to share something really personal,” I explain. “You’re asking me to find the genesis of why sitting here with you makes me jumpy.”

“I assume not because you believe I’m an ax murderer?”

“I know you’re not.” I offer him my plate again. “Take it. I’m stuffed and I want to finish my beer.” I have to gesture with the plate again, but he caves under the perfection that is our mojito tacos and takes it.

“You’re asking why I’m the way I am. Why I’ve accepted less than I deserved, or maybe not that. Why I didn’t pursue what I wanted, instead of letting it go because the stakes could be too high.”

“I said all that?” He chews slowly, watching me through narrowed eyelids.

He didn’t, but he implied it. I nibble my bottom lip, unsure what he’s learned from my admission. I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol for this discussion.

“Which is it?” he asks. “Did you accept something or did you pursue nothing?”

Magic Mike guy is deeper than his exterior suggests. Either I play his game and rise to his level, or I turn and run. It’s a good jog to the house from here.

On a sigh, I admit, “A bit of both at varying intervals.”

He swipes his teeth with his tongue, which shouldn’t be sexy, but somehow is.

He slides his ass back so his legs hang off the edge of the bed of his Jeep and props himself up with his elbows. He looks out at the field, but I get the impression his mind’s 100 percent on me.

I gather our plates and he says nothing. Not even when I move to the fire and throw them in, poking them with a sturdy stick he’s found for that purpose. I stab it into the ground like a post and turn to find his eyes on me, his body still propped by his elbows. Still quiet. Next to the bouquet of yellow and purple wildflowers, his rugged jeans-and-tee-and-boots combo clashes. I walk toward him, each step bringing me closer and closer to an outcome I don’t want.

I don’t want to talk about who I am or who I’ve been. I don’t want to talk about his past hurts and failures.

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