Jude when this guy had walked up behind her. In fact, she’d been laughing at herself for having thought about it earlier. Somehow, her whole mood had shifted from the time she’d walked into the coffee shop until the moment this incredibly handsome man had approached her.
Incredibly. Handsome.
Around them, others in the café glanced over. Lucy wasn’t blind to the stares that lingered on him. Heaven knew, any woman with a broken-in vagina would stare. Heck, hers wasn’t broken-in and she could barely take her eyes off the guy!
He’d been super-hot from across the room. Up close, now that she could see the tiny flecks in his stunning green eyes, the dazzling white smile, the slight stubble on his cheeks, well, he went from hot and sexy to smoking and irresistible. She’d actually shivered when their hands had met, unable to think a single thought except to wonder how those strong, rough fingers would feel sliding across her skin.
Gorgeous, sexy, strong. And a sense of humor.
Why couldn’t she have met this guy on a day when she didn’t loathe every creature with a penis?
You don’t. Not every guy.
Truthfully? Not even one. She didn’t loathe Jude. She would have had to care about him to hate him, and, honestly, having really thought about it, she knew she hadn’t cared much at all.
“You’re serious?” he asked once his laughter had died down.
“Not about doing it.”
“But thinking it?”
“My turn to take the fifth.”
“Why?”
“Probably because it’s not very nice to admit you fantasize about dismembering someone.”
“No, I meant why do you want to, um…dismember him?”
“I didn’t, I was just indulging in a little mind-revenge. He wasn’t the most faithful guy.”
“I hate cheaters,” he said, his voice both sympathetic and disgusted.
“Speaking from personal experience?”
“Well, not exactly,” he admitted.
Yeah. Because any woman who cheated on him would have to have been recently lobotomized.
“Though, I did kinda get cheated on once…by a guy.”
She didn’t take the bait, knowing that there was no way Ross was gay. There wasn’t one nonheterosexual gene in his body; you could practically smell the masculine pheromones that surrounded him like a cloud, attracting every woman in the place.
“Let me guess…your best buddy in first grade decided he wanted to play dodgeball instead of tag and left you alone in the playground?”
“Almost,” he said, his eyes gleaming with approval that she hadn’t gone where most would have. “It was in high school. I wanted my best friend to stick with the wrestling team, he wanted to do the school musical.” He shook his head sadly. “I just couldn’t understand what he was thinking. It wasn’t until junior year that he finally told me the truth, and then I was so furious I didn’t speak to him for a week.”
Somehow disappointed in him, she stiffened slightly. “You were mad that he was gay?”
“Hell, no, he wasn’t gay! He told me he left wrestling and went to drama because, let me see if I remember this exactly, ‘Why would I want to roll around on the floor with a bunch of sweaty dudes, when I could be one of only a handful of guys surrounded by some of the prettiest girls in the school?’ Man, some of those theater chicks were cute…and he never told me, he kept them all for himself!”
She laughed out loud, liking both the story, and that he had told it. He was obviously trying to distract her, to amuse her. It was a nice thing to do for a guy so young and good-looking.
“So, your first bro-mance ended up in a bad breakup.”
“Yup. Now, back to yours… .”
“Not a bro-mance, obviously. But also unpleasant. I only wish it were something as simple as him preferring The Sound of Music to pinning and undercupping.”
His eyes widened. “Hey, you know wrestling!”
“Older brother.”
“So is he going to kick this cheating dude’s ass?”
“Sam? No. He doesn’t live here, and even if he did, there’s absolutely no way I would tell him about this.”
“How come?”
“Because he’s a cop. And he’s extremely overprotective.” Though she didn’t usually discuss it, for some reason, she found this guy very easy to talk to, so she added, “He sort of became my father when our parents died.”
Ross leaned forward in his chair, dropping his elbows onto the table. His fingers brushed against her hand, in a move that was as fleeting as it was sweet. A faint brush of I’m Sorry and How Sad and Hey, I Understand. All unsaid. All understood.
All appreciated.
She cleared her throat, feeling the lump start to rise, the way it always did when this particular subject came up. “Anyway, I don’t need Sam to fight my battles. I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Ross said.
“Don’t worry, I’m really not the violent type. This guy didn’t crush my spirit, he merely dinged my ego.”
He held her stare, as if assessing the truth of her words. Lucy stared right back, a tiny smile on her lips, relieved that she meant exactly what she’d said, hoping he realized that, too.
“I’m glad,” he finally admitted, seeing the truth in her face.
“So am I.”
“Still, if you change your mind and decide to get all saw-crazy on this boyfriend, remind me not to go with you. I wouldn’t want to be arrested as an accomplice.”
She chuckled as he turned her earlier words back on her, then clarified, “Ex-boyfriend.” Shaking her head, she added, “Believe me, nothing could induce me to go back there.” Then something occurred to her. “Oh, no!” Lucy put a hand over her forehead as she remembered something. Because she was going to have to make a liar of herself. “I’m so stupid!”
“What?”
“My brother’s Christmas present to me. It came in the mail today—he sent it to Jude’s place because he knows mail sometimes gets stolen from the building where I live and Jude’s has a doorman.” She felt moisture in her eyes, furious at herself for forgetting the gift, but also worried about what Jude would do with it. “He’s probably already thrown it down the trash chute.”
“Jude?” he said doubtfully. “Lemme guess—spoiled, rich punk?”
It might have taken a little while for the blinders to come off, but Lucy had to admit, that pretty well described her ex. “How’d you know?”
“Having a doorman in NYC is a pretty big tip-off. So’s having a name like Jude. Plus, he must’ve done something pretty bad if you’re fantasizing about chopping the head off his trouser snake, yet he’d still throw out a Christmas gift from your brother…meaning he’s an immature, petulant brat.” He spread his hands. “Or a spoiled, rich asshole.”
“All of the above would cover it.”
“And you’re with this guy…why?”
“I’m not with him.”
“But you were as of…”
She sighed deeply. “About two hours ago.”
He whistled, leaning back in his chair, extending his long legs, crossed at the ankle. “Was it serious?