Page 91 of Parting Shot

He crossed his arms but didn’t look at me.

“And how many weak women do you know, because I don’t know any.”

He was quiet a moment. “Well, yes, that’s certainly true.”

“Also, what is this our thing business? Do you mean in our romance? Is that the thing you’re referring to?” I laughed, standing up and following him, feeling like humor was my best option. “Just so we’re clear, there’s no woman in this thing—our thing—at all.”

He spun around to face me. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

“Listen, I don’t get taken care of or handled—you understand? I’m the one who does that. I fix things. Me. I’m the guy who makes all the plans. Not anybody else.”

“Or,” I said gently, amazed at my own patience. Normally, I would have yelled, but something about Aaron made me want to talk to him, soothe him, give him comfort. “We could take turns, ya know, doing things, making plans, since we’re partners and all.”

He was staring at me.

“If that would work for you?”

Still silent.

“Since that’s what people do. Relationships are a team sport,” I instructed him. “Or so I’ve heard.”

His eyes stayed fastened on mine.

“Food?”

He coughed. “Yes, please.”

I walked back over to the table, and he followed me. I pulled out his chair, and he sat and even let me push it in for him. Once his eyes were back on me, I poured him some coffee, served him up some eggs Benedict and fresh strawberries with powdered sugar, and then asked him if he wanted any orange juice.

“No.” He shook his head.

I went back to reading the paper, and after a few minutes, he said my name. My gaze returned to him immediately.

“Yes, let’s do that.”

“Let’s do what?”

He squinted. “Let’s play a team sport.”

“Okay.” I grinned.

He looked better as he took a bite of his breakfast.

Leaving the hotel would have been more easily accomplished with a battering ram or a snowplow. So many people, so many reporters, and every one of them wanted to know who I was since Aaron was holding my hand. I had on his sunglasses again, which were way too fancy for me. We agreed to stop at a mall on the way out of town to pick me up a pair. We probably could have gotten through the paparazzi quicker, but when Aaron was asked point-blank if I was his boyfriend, his answer—his clear and honest yes—started the whole onslaught all over again.

It was deafening—the sound of the flashes going off, the yells at me of, “Over here,” the calls of, “What’s your name?” It was crazy.

Aaron smiled, held court, and then stuffed me into the back of the limousine.

Once we were safe behind tinted glass, I took off the cap that didn’t at all go with my Italian suit and only then noticed his liquid eyes and the warmth in them. “What?”

“Why is that stupid cap so ridiculously hot?”

“Because you want me,” I said flatly.

“I believe you’re right.”