Page 28 of Bitter’s Sweet

“I was being honest.”

“And I appreciate that. Truly. Saves time.” I smooth the front of my yellow cardigan. “You’re very handsome in a terrifying, probably bad-for-my-credit-score sort of way, and I enjoyed the drink. But I don’t do just sex.”

His eyebrows draw together like I’ve started speaking French.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Ever?”

“Not with men who announce it like terms and conditions.”

For a second, he looks offended.

Then amused.

Then suspicious again.

“You looking for a husband?”

“Good Lord, no.” I pick up my purse. “I’m looking for a cosmetology license, steady income, and maybe a life that doesn’t bore me into an early grave.”

“This place won’t bore you.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

“Damn shame.”

I smile up at him. “You recover quick.”

His mouth curves slow and wicked. “I respect a no. Don’t mean I gotta like it.”

“Good.”

“Shame can still be fun.”

“I bet it can.” I take one step toward the door, then stop beside him. “But I like being wanted by men who can admit they want more than my body, even if they say it badly.”

His expression shifts.

I don’t know what nerve I hit, but I hit one.

“That ain’t me,” he says.

“I know.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I know you warned me.”

“That was for your benefit.”

“Then thank you.”

He stares at me like I’ve become a puzzle with a missing corner.

I like being underestimated. I like watching people decide I am soft because I smile, then stumble when softness doesn’t make me stupid.