Chapter 11 Lottie #2
“I’m sorry,” I tell him again, voice stronger now.
“For what?” he asks, turning onto the highway.
For so many things. “For… for being mean to you.” I fidget in my seat, tangling and untangling my fingers in my lap.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not always mean to me. Sometimes you border on nice. I can handle whatever you throw at me.” Knox laughs easily—always so light and happy—and glances over at me. “Plus, I take it as a compliment.”
“A compliment?”
“Yeah. A compliment. Because I don’t think you being ‘mean’ to me—or just a little snarky—has anything to do with you not liking me. I think it’s the complete opposite, actually.”
“The complete opposite, huh?” An involuntary smile tugs at my lips.
“Oh, one hundred percent. I think you’re freaked out that you like me so much, so your immediate reaction is to push me away.” He shrugs, unbothered. “It’s basic psychology, Lottie. Come on.”
I laugh dryly. “And you’re positive my annoyance toward you has nothing to do with your cocky attitude?”
“Please don’t confuse cockiness with confidence.”
I harumph, crossing my arms in front of my chest and gazing out the passenger window, essentially putting this conversation to bed. He can’t know that there might be some truth to his theory.
“Where did you find this convention, by the way? What sort of research did you do?”
“I love the subtle way you tried to change the subject.” He flashes me my favorite lopsided grin. “But to answer your question, it’s really amazing, actually. I tried this new thing called Google. Ever heard of it?”
I snort, biting my lip to keep from smiling back at him.
Dammit, he’s good.
“You’re such a smart-ass.”
He laughs softly with me, thrilled by my reaction while I almost regret the way my heart warms in my chest at the sound of his easy laughter.
“I also went through some of Walter’s paperwork in his office a couple of days ago. Saw that he’d been to this particular one about a year ago. So we’re good.”
Impressed, I smile at Knox. “Wow.”
“Can you believe it? I’m not just good at giving you multiple orgasms—I can also do research,” he says sarcastically.
I glare at him, feeling a blush spread across my face.
“Come on.” His laugh bursts through him. “I was just messing around. I’m just kinda frustrated that you seem so surprised I’d be able to handle something so simple.”
“I haven’t known you for long, so it’s a little difficult for me to trust you implicitly.”
He’s quiet for a beat, until finally he says, “You trust me well enough to let me make you your coffee every morning.” I tilt my head and raise a brow. He laughs softly and nods. “Fair enough. Ask me anything.”
“Anything?” I sit up straighter in my seat, watching him with cautious eyes, tempted.
“Anything. See, while you’ve been doing everything in your power to keep me away, I actually want you to get to know me. I want you to like me.”
“And you just assume that once I get to know you, I’ll like you?”
“Yes. But not because I’m cocky,” he says the word like it’s dirty.
“But because I know, even from that one night we spent together, that the connection you and I have isn’t something that can be made up or faked; it’s not something that disappears.
I know you’re pushing me away, and I’m not helping the situation by being mildly irritating—even though we both know it’s a little charming; admit it.
But I’m confident enough to believe that what I experienced— what we experienced—was real.
So I’ll endure the snarky comments and the eye rolls because I know it’s in reaction to what you’re feeling.
Plus, I find them a little hot,” he says with a laugh.
“I’ll endure them until you give me a fair shot.
Only then, only when you’ve actually properly gotten to know me and can’t make up any excuses, will I accept that you’re not lying when you say you don’t like me.
So ask me. Ask me anything you want. I’m an open book—pun intended. ”
By the time he’s done with his speech, my heart is racing in my chest, and I’m chewing at my bottom lip. With difficulty, I try not to focus too much on how his words make me feel, and focus more on the fact that he’s given me the freedom to ask him about whatever I want.
Where do I even start?
The first question that bubbles up is Why me?
Why are you so into me? Because I still don’t understand how a guy in his twenties with his whole life ahead of him would want to waste his time with a woman in her mid-thirties who absolutely crashed and burned in life.
Other than as a fun one-night stand, which we already had, what’s the point?
What would he get out of this? It’s not like I’m some superhuman woman who looks ten years younger than her age.
I’m someone who doesn’t have the energy to follow a forty-step skincare routine twice a day, one who doesn’t work out, or eat healthy.
I don’t have any interesting hobbies besides reading and I’m not adventurous.
I’m barely surviving day by day. Who the hell wants that?
Who would ever look at me and think “Yeah, that’s her”?
Because even when I was at my best, I wasn’t wanted— easily cast aside.
Why me, then?
Instead, I choose to go the mature route and ask him an obvious question: “What’s the deal with you and your dad?”