Shaw, naked.
She rubbed her lips together. “Whipped cream is good.”
His gaze went hot for a moment, and she knew his mind had gone exactly to where hers had. She smiled. “Take me to dinner, Shaw.”
He swept an arm in front of her. “As you wish.”
* * *
Taryn was full and a little buzzed after a leisurely meal at a quaint little Italian restaurant not too far from the gym. She and Shaw had fallen into easy conversation about everything that didn’t involve the past. Why Shaw and Rivers had chosen that type of gym to open. What kind of event she could plan to raise money. What books they liked to read. What bands. Favorite movies.
At first, she was acutely aware of all the things they were avoiding—talk of family, of careers, of college—but after a while and two glasses of wine, they fell into a comfortable rhythm. Also, she realized this meant she wasn’t talking about the things that usually infiltrated her dates—details about her research or that she was a Long Acre survivor. In a lot of ways, it was a relief. No heavy talk. No sympathetic looks or darkly fascinated ones. No glazed-over eyes.
On the other hand, it was disconcerting. She felt a bit unmoored, a ship that had drifted away from the dock. Who was she if not the research professor and Long Acre survivor? What made her interesting to someone else besides that? Shaw didn’t seem to be bored, but the thought stuck with her like a little thorn in her foot, sticking, sticking.
Shaw paid the check after they shared a few bites of tiramisu, and then he asked her if she wanted to take a walk. Taryn wasn’t ready for the night to end, and after the wine, she needed to walk off the buzz a little. “Yeah, sure. It’s nice out.”
He smiled, his face warm in the glow of the candlelight coming from the little red votive jar at the center of the table, and she got the distinct impression that he’d thought she was going to say no and was pleased she hadn’t. That gave her a whole other kind of buzz that had nothing on the wine.
“Great.” He pushed his chair back and offered his hand to help her up. “We can get our heart rates up and burn off some of these calories.”
She made an affronted noise and hit him on the arm with her purse.
He laughed, the flickering light dancing in his eyes. “Depraved she doesn’t hit me for. I mention calories and I’m getting abused. I’m kidding, professor.”
He led her outside, the night air cool but almost a relief after the heavy, garlic-scented air inside, and let go of her hand. She missed the connection as soon as it was gone. “I can’t believe you brought up calories after tiramisu. That’s just cruel to do to a curvy girl.”
“Curvy?” He gave her a raised-eyebrow look as they started to amble down the quiet street. “Is that what we’re calling hot as fuck these days? Because that’s really the only thing you could mean right now.”
She gave him a look, though his blunt words sent a little shiver through her. “Well, for some, it can mean a good thing, but I’m a little more self-conscious when you’re, you know”—she flicked her hand between them—“you.”
He stopped on the sidewalk. “Me?”
She cocked a brow. “Yes. An athlete with probably less body fat than a carton of yogurt.”
He frowned and stepped in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’re beautiful. Not because I say so. It just is. If I stopped ten people on this sidewalk, nine out of ten would agree and the other one would just be drunk.”
She bit her lip, charmed by his vehemence.
“My body is my job,” he said simply. “It’s not some big accomplishment. It’s just the only thing I know how to do well. Don’t be too impressed. One-trick pony.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“Believe it.” He took her hand and they continued
walking. “And to be honest, I’m not all that strict about what I eat. All those years of Olympic training and watching every calorie, focusing on food only as fuel, kind of killed my desire to ever go back to that. I try to be healthy, but I also let myself enjoy food. It’s one of life’s few pleasures.”
Taryn kept walking alongside him, but when he said Olympic, her breath caught. He’d gone there, to the past. She didn’t know if that was a slipup or if he actually felt comfortable enough to talk to her more openly. Maybe it was the wine. “I can’t imagine the pressure that must’ve involved.”
“If you’d asked me back then, I would’ve told you there’s nothing tougher than being an athlete at that level.” He glanced over at her before focusing back on the sidewalk in front of them. “But I learned pretty quickly that I had no idea what I was talking about. That was a cakewalk compared to what came after.”
She nodded, their steps echoing along an empty alley on their right. “I know what you mean on some level. I thought things were so hard in high school. No one realized I was so angsty because I was a good student and ran track and looked to be doing everything right. But man, inside, I was kind of a disaster. Everything felt so huge at the time. Then once everything happened…I realized they were just the little problems of a little girl.”
He squeezed her hand “What were you angsting about? Typical teenage stuff? Not that I’d know what that is, really. I spent most of high school with private tutors.”
She peeked over at him, finding him watching her, and she gave him an embarrassed smile. “It’s going to sound silly now, but I thought I was destined to be a singer-songwriter. That was my life. I was an artiste, thank you very much.” She laughed under her breath. “I was very internally dramatic.”
Shaw didn’t laugh with her. “Why couldn’t you be a songwriter?”