I pulled away from the curb.
She closed her eyes and sighed. I felt her hand tangle through mine and looked down at her delicate fingers. “Thank you.”
“For what? Chauffeur duty?” I laughed.
“You can drop the act. I know you care about him.”
I squeezed her hand in mine. “I do. I was just trying to lighten the mood. Heavy isn’t my thing.”
“You did heavy pretty well tonight.” Her eyes opened and her gaze drifted toward me.
God, we had been in the middle of a crisis. A child had been lost. But the way she looked at me now there was only one thing I could think of. I turned left at the next light instead of right.
“Wait, my apartment is the other way.”
“I know. But I think it’s time someone looks after you for a change.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”
“Jules.” My voice was stern.
“I can’t. We can’t,” she replied.
“How about something to eat? Maybe something to drink? A back rub?”
She giggled. “The Sharks quarterback gives out backrubs, or do you think I’m that naïve?”
“I’m hoping you’re that naïve, baby.” I winked.
“Well, I’m not. I think you should take me home.”
Did she realize it didn’t matter where we went—I’d want the same thing? I had to kiss her. To touch her. To soothe the hurt from the night away from her. I wanted to be the kind of man that could that for her and I don’t know when in the hell something like that mattered to me.
“After tonight, you still don’t trust me?” I questioned.
“You’re not the one I don’t trust,” she whispered.
Fuck. My dick hardened at the words. She wanted me. She wanted the same thing. But I had to prove I could be the kind of man who wasn’t a sex addict. I could respect her. I could take her home and take care of her.
“I have some frozen pizzas we can throw in the oven and I might even have a bottle of wine.” I looked at her skeptical face. “And a guestroom. It’s all yours. You shouldn’t be alone tonight after what you’ve been through. And to be honest, I don’t think I want to be either.”
She nodded. “All right. Frozen pizzas it is.”
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
We sat on the living room floor, our plates on the coffee table and a bottle of wine between us.
Julie nodded. “If you’re trying to impress me with your cooking skills, you need some work.” She ripped off a corner of burned crust.
I chuckled. “I’m better with a grill.”
“That’s what all men say.”
“All men? And just how many men are you talking about?” I don’t know where the question came from, but I suddenly wanted to know about her. How many men had she dated?
She blushed. “It’s just an understood guy thing.”
“I’m not buying that bullshit,” I teased. “Tell me. How many have there been?”