I have no way to respond to that. The truth is he probably knows me as well as I know him.
“So what was it then?” He goes on as if I responded in words. “He wanted to move too fast for you and then got mad when you kept applying the brakes?”
“No!” My cheeks warm slightly since at least that’s a gratifying guess.
“He’s into threesomes and finally sprang it on you, and you’re not into that kind of thing?”
I’m so surprised that I choke on reluctant amusement. “No.”
“Okay then. He finally found out you’re in love with someone else.”
I blink. “What?”
“That’s what happened, isn’t it?”
“No!”
“So he didn’t find out, but he sensed something and dumped you anyway?”
“No! I’m not in love with anyone!” My words are a bit too vehement for my liking. I normally try to keep my cool with him no matter how much he throws me off my game.
His mouth twitches with what looks like suppressed amusement. A very dry kind. “All right. If you say so.”
“I do say so. Anyway, what about you? What happened with your new girlfriend?”
His expression changes slightly. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“What? You ended it? Don’t you normally string women along for at least a couple of months?”
“I don’t string anyone along. They all know what I’m offering. I tell them I’m not interested in anything serious but we can have fun together for a while if they want. It’s their choice. I don’t take advantage.”
“Right. And that absolves you of hurting them when they end up wanting more.”
“I never offer them more.” His expression is completely sober now in a way I’ve almost never seen it. Evidently he takes this seriously although he takes almost nothing else that way.
I shrug, feeling awkward. “Okay.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“What does it matter what I believe?”
He opens his mouth to respond but then closes it before anything comes out. When he does answer, it’s clearly not with whatever his first instinct was. “I try hard to be a decent person in relationships. Especially with sex. I don’t want anyone assuming I’m not.”
“Okay.” I shrug again, avoiding his eyes since they’re making me feel weird. “I have no idea what you tell your string of girlfriends. I’m sure you say all the right things. I’m just putting out there that if you act like you’re into them, if you act like you’re their boyfriend, then you can’t be surprised if they start to hope that maybe you’ll actually be that.”
He doesn’t answer. The silence is long enough that I have to turn to see his expression. He’s frowning down at the beer Lincoln slid over toward him.
“Or did you think there was some other reason they all end up in tears when you tell them it’s over?” I add, annoyed with myself for feeling kind of bad for him when I know exactly how he treats women.
“They don’t all end up in tears.”
“Don’t they? Maybe not in front of you. But I guarantee that most of them are crying when they’re back in their cars. Are you really going to argue that they don’t care if they’re dumped after a month or two of being made to feel like they’re the center of your universe?”
“I never—” He breaks off his own words. I don’t really know why, but something is working on his face that I haven’t seen there before.
I’m not sure how we fell into this conversation, but it’s time for it to be over. Fortunately, Joey appears just then, strolling through the bar, looking messy and flustered as she often does when she’s late, which is almost always.
“There’s Joey. I’ve got to go. Enjoy your evening.” I’m out of there before Rafe can answer, and the distance between us is a relief.
What the hell?
Why do I let him rattle me this way?
The conversation we had means nothing. And Lincoln’s insinuations also mean nothing.
It’s just Rafe. Being Rafe. And making my life miserable.
He’s always been my nemesis, and that’s not likely to ever change.
3
A month later, I’m taking the spoiled, opinionated bichon frise that I’m currently dog-sitting on a walk first thing in the morning when I decide I need a cup of coffee.
I had one at home, but it wasn’t enough for a Sunday morning at eight thirty. So instead of turning left toward the park, which is where I normally walk Powder Puff (yes, that’s the dog’s name), I turn right and head toward the coffee shop down the block from my apartment building.
Powder Puff is my boss’s beloved dog. She’s snow white and meticulously groomed in a show cut that makes her head look as round and poufy as a cotton ball. Since I like dogs and since brownie points are always helpful, I volunteered to dog-sit for a few days while my boss takes an extended ski weekend.
I’ve had her since Friday, and she hasn’t been too difficult. She demands a lot of attention, and she insists on getting her way, but I purposefully made no other plans for the weekend so I’ve been able to devote all my time to waiting on the pup. Because of this, we’ve been getting along fine.
But a second cup of coffee this morning is a must.
When I reach the front door of the coffee shop, I realize my dilemma. Naturally, I can’t walk inside with Powder Puff prancing in front of me. Dogs aren’t allowed. I could maybe hook her lead to one of the outdoor tables and leave her there. It would almost certainly be safe since Green Valley is a small town with minimal street crime. But this isn’t my dog and I’m not about to risk something happening to her while I’m inside for five minutes getting a coffee.
I hesitate. I could skip the coffee. Or I could linger for a little while. There’s a good chance someone I know will stop by who can either buy my coffee or stand with Powder Puff for a few minutes.
As I’m waging this internal debate, a voice comes from behind me. “Did you actually go and get yourself a dog?”
I freeze except for my heart. It jumps—literally jumps—before it settles back into its normal place in my chest. It’s racing now though, in a way that always annoys me.
There’s no reason my heart rate should react so dramatically to Rafe’s presence.
I’ve composed myself enough to do nothing but raise my eyebrows as I turn toward the voice. He’s striding down the sidewalk in the same direction Powder Puff and I came, looking fully awake, laid-back, and ridiculously sexy in casual khakis and a thin blue sweater over an untucked button-down. His hair is still slightly damp, so it’s not quite as wildly tousled as normal.
He’s grinning, and that smile does something strange and unsettling to my insides.
“She’s not mine. I’m dog-sitting.”
“Ah. That makes more sense.”
“Why does it make more sense?” I ask with a frown. “I’m a dog person.”
“Sure, but I didn’t think you would have chosen that particular dog. She looks like the queen of the castle.” His gaze has shifted down to Powder Puff, who is wagging her floof of a tail at him, silently demanding her due. As Rafe squats down to pet the dog, he adds in a conversational tone, “And there can only be one of those. Isn’t that right, girl?”