Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
When at times things suck, it’s okay to live off ice cream, alcohol, and donuts and make questionable decisions. You can worry about your diet the next day.
From the self-help book for self-pitiers by psychologist Rachel James
Did you just call me questionable? - Connor
During the next hour, Rachel made three discoveries.
First, food might actually be a worthy substitute for no sex.
(Okay, that wasn’t true, but maybe better than sex with Phil would have been.) Second, Connor’s legs were too long.
His knees kept bumping against hers, and the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing her bare skin drove her crazy.
Third, there wasn’t a man in the world she would be less happy to show her Match Me!
questionnaire answers to. Because they were…
private. Intimate. Designed to evaluate someone as thoroughly as possible without an in-person interaction.
She didn’t like that this allowed Connor to dig even deeper into her psyche, just as she didn’t like how easy it was for her to talk to him.
That there hadn’t been a single awkward moment of silence during the last hour.
That she might have been wrong in diagnosing him as an asshole and that he was simply a principled, cynical man as well as frighteningly direct and far too honest. She couldn’t say for sure yet, but men who bought you ice cream couldn’t be that bad.
She hoped. Because as his gaze flew over the questionnaire on her phone, she became increasingly uneasy, especially because he seemed to raise his eyebrows in amusement at every other question.
“Okay,” he finally said solemnly. “I’ve practically won the bet.”
“What?” The statement shocked her so much that she dropped her ice cream spoon.
“Well, if you deliberately choose the wrong men, I have nothing to worry about.”
Oh, the guy was going too far. “You don’t know me, Connor,” she replied sharply.
“I know you better than this questionnaire,” he replied, unimpressed. “Seriously, who filled it out? It couldn’t have been you. What’s up with question one anyway?” He tapped the screen.
“Which one? I can’t read upside down!” she said, annoyed.
Connor stood and plopped down on the bench next to her.
His hip and thigh pressed against hers, causing her abdomen to contract. He was…close. But he didn’t even seem to notice.
“What’s the most interesting thing anyone might learn about you: You love cacti?”
“It’s an interesting fact!”
“I know three other interesting facts about you, and I’m not your date, by God!”
She snorted. “Is that so? Oh, please, tell me more about me. I’m burning with curiosity.”
“You use your smile for evil, convincing unsuspecting waiters to mix you drinks that aren’t on the menu.
You make bets you can’t help but lose, just to defend your sister.
” His gaze flicked over her face, lingering on her lower lip for a tenth of a second.
“And a crease forms in your chin when you’re tempted to laugh but really don’t want to give me the satisfaction. ”
Her heart fluttered, and she automatically brought her hand to her chin. “It does not.”
A knowing smile appeared on his face. “You’re biting the inside of your lip; it shows,” he whispered. “But it’s okay. Keep it a secret. Instead, tell me…why cacti?”
Her mouth was strangely dry, and she wished he’d stop smiling. Whenever he did, she felt a tingling sensation between her shoulder blades, as if she could feel his touch there. “Cacti are fascinating.”
Unfazed, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Well, that was going too far! He could attack her chin, but not her succulents. Once he’d survived three months without water, he’d be free to make fun of any cactus that caught his eye — hopefully literally. But until then? “Oh, please. Do you have more interesting hobbies?”
Connor opened his mouth, then closed it again and looked away. “No, you’re right. Let’s move on.”
Wary, she studied his profile. Wait… “What exactly were you doing with the metal detector at the beach?”
“Checking if the pennies I swallowed as a kid were still in my system.”
She didn’t want to laugh, so she bit the inside of her lip to…oh, shit. He was right! Annoyed, she expelled the snort that was stuck in her throat. “Tell me.”
His gaze swung back to her before he said in an overly friendly tone, “No, thank you.”
“You owe me!” She pointed her index finger in his face. “You read my questionnaire. It’s only fair if you give me some answers yourself.”
“And if I say no?”
She abruptly snatched her phone out of his hand. “Then stop criticizing the questionnaire.”
Connor sighed heavily, his jaw working as he swirled his second whiskey, watching the amber liquid leave ripple patterns on the glass.
“Fine,” he finally murmured darkly. “It’s no big deal, just…
” He groaned softly and…was Connor Stone blushing?
Impossible. “Many of our clients sign the final papers in our office and then storm off to the beach to ceremoniously throw their wedding rings into the ocean. Most aren’t particularly athletic and have the throwing power of a toddler.
And the rings are actually always incredibly valuable.
It seems like an absolute waste, so…I wait until they wash up again and go searching for them with Winnie.
I have them melted down and give him the money.
As a finder’s fee, so to speak. He accepts food, but doesn’t like hand-outs of money.
But if he earns it himself…” He pressed his lips together.
With her mouth gaping, Rachel stared at him, her chest expanding and contracting. Then she started to laugh. “Shit. You’re right; your hobby is much more interesting. How long have you been doing this?”
“A few years,” he said sharply. “But we’ve been finding a lot more since we started using the metal detector.”
His cheeks were still red, as if he was uncomfortable with being nice.
“May we continue now?” he asked, nodding at her phone.
She swallowed and handed it to him. She breathed through the fluttering pit in her stomach that she didn’t know how to handle. So, Connor was…not an asshole?
“What the hell?" He said then. "Your dream man 'isn’t too handsome.' You want someone average-looking? What’s wrong with you?”
Her question no longer mattered. “What’s wrong with that?” she replied belligerently.
“Nothing. When you fall in love, the other person becomes more and more attractive anyway. But you don’t really go on a date thinking, I want someone who’s just okay looking!’“
She jutted out her chin. “Handsome men have huge egos. You’re a great example.”
Intrigued, he smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Really? How handsome am I exactly? Tell me more,” he drawled…as he pressed his leg deliberately against hers.
“Shut up,” she grumbled, restraining herself from moving away from him. It would have felt like retreating from a battle. “History has shown that I get along better with average men who couldn’t inflate a hot-air balloon with their egos.”
“So you want a guy who isn’t overly self-confident?” Connor summed up simply.
“That has nothing to do with it!”
“It has everything to do with it,” he countered.
“The word ego has such damn negative connotations, but as a psychologist, you should know that it’s defined as nothing more than a person’s idea of themselves.
If you want a guy with a small ego, does that mean you prefer insecure men who might… give in more easily?”
She gritted her teeth. Now she understood why Izzie had warned her about Connor. She had never met a man who argued so infuriatingly well! Who was such a…an equal opponent. “There’s a difference between caving and not imposing their opinions on me,” she informed him.
“So you want a man who will make your life easy. Who has no problem losing every argument to you.” He smiled and lowered his voice. “Meaning men who will eventually bore you.”
“No!” she snapped, while at the same time, a small, traitorous part of her mind went through every one of her past relationships…which had bored her one by one. “I just want a calm, relaxed relationship,” she managed. “A man who accepts that and understands it. Who feels it.”
“Ah, yes. What a nice transition to the next point of our discussion today,” he replied in a businesslike tone. “Your no-go is a man who doesn’t want to get married. Or is insensitive.”
“Correct.”
“Good. Let’s leave all the silly marriage talk aside. Do you think I'm an insensitive man?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
He snorted. “What makes me insensitive?”
“Well, you obviously don’t realize how uncomfortable this situation is for me. After all, you’re telling me I filled out my own questionnaire incorrectly,” she replied irritably.
“Oh, I noticed,” he said, irritated. “But why should that stop me from continuing? You’re a grown woman, Rachel.
If you want me to stop, tell me to stop.
I can’t presume to know what you want.” His voice was so dark and earnest that it reverberated in her chest. “If I stopped asking you questions because I thought you couldn’t handle the conversation, I’d be patronizing you.
The message would be that I think you can’t stand up for yourself.
Which, damn it, I haven’t even considered for a single second since we first met.
Ergo, in my opinion, it would be insensitive to consider your feelings if you don’t clearly ask me to. So, should I stop?”
She stared at him. Her breathing was faster and shallower than before.
No. She didn’t want him to stop. The only question that remained was why.
Because you haven’t had this much fun talking with a man in a long time.