I laugh. Kiera is unexpectedly cute, sexy, and funny. She’s also more at ease today. I’m glad. The way she can be so modest and quiet in the office, yet able to crack jokes away from her nine-to-five is intriguing. I like this carefree side of her. I’d love to see more.
“You seem well rested,” I point out.
“I am. You were right; I needed more time to think everything through.”
“I didn’t want you to rush.”
“I understand that now. The time helped me put things into perspective.”
“And?” The anticipation is killing me.
She pauses. “Yesterday, you asked me why I wanted to do this. Initially, I said it was to find happiness. I know now that isn’t true.”
“Then what is?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m one of the few women left who still believed in—and wanted—my Prince Charming. Because of that, I lost sight of the reality in front of me. Friends? Family? That’s the love I truly need. Coupled with my ambition and my self-worth, I’ll be fulfilled emotionally. Men? They won’t make me happy. They’re not supposed to. All I need from them to be fulfilled physically are their penises. No offense.”
“None taken.”
Her rationale is logical.
Yeah, and cynical.
“Yesterday, you asked me if I could handle this without regret. I really believe I can hop between the sheets with a hookup and leave my heart at home. I just need practice. Give me a chance?”
“So you still want me to teach you how to one-night stand?”
“Yes. I’m convinced that’s what I need to move forward.”
I mentally toss a fist bump in the air but pause when I realize what this means for Kiera. Her decision is a win for my dick…but it’s an admission of defeat for her. She’s given up on finding true love in favor of living in the single status quo.
I shift in my seat and try to dismiss an unwelcome stab of guilt. The pragmatic side of me argues that Kiera’s conclusion is sad, but it’s better than her pining for storybook endings that will never come true.
The marshmallowy core in my ribcage that I ignore every chance I get doesn’t agree.
“The terms and conditions we agreed on yesterday still apply,” I remind her, sliding back into a comfortable business mode.
She nods. “Of course.”
“All right, then let’s continue talking about you. When you talk to guys, how’s that?”
“Honestly?” She winces. “Like an ostrich trying to fly.”
I laugh. “It can’t be that bad. When was the last time you flirted with someone?”
“Genuinely? Too long ago to remember.”
“What about disingenuously?”
“Nope, that didn’t go well, either. He did all the talking—and it was all about him.”
“So he’s a douche?” I swipe a chip and pop it in my mouth.
“Yeah. When I met him, I tried complimenting him. It just…fell out of my mouth awkwardly.”
“What did you say?”
“I took one look at him and said, ‘I’m glad you’re obviously not a jock.’ I meant it as a compliment since they’re so often all pumped up and full of themselves. I assumed that because he looked more intellectual, he’d think with the head up top a bit more.”