Chapter Ten #2
About to speak, I could see we’d drawn somewhat of a crowd. Being hyperaware that my personal life was about to be exposed, I gritted my teeth. “Fine. Come upstairs. But only for a little while. I have things to do.”
“As do I.” He trailed behind me, and we didn’t speak until we got inside.
“Okay. I need to shower, so let’s make this quick. What did you come to say?”
“I want you to admit you’re wrong.”
Truly baffled, I gazed up at him. “Wrong about what?”
“Hockey players. Me.”
“I cannot believe you’re still hung up on that one comment. Let. It. Go.”
“Would you like it if someone called you a grinning suit who just parrots the words people write for you?” He arched a dark brow as I gaped at him in shock before anger flooded me.
“What the hell? I write all my own copy. Research my stories. Nothing goes through the newsroom without verification.”
His lips curled in a slight sneer. “Who would know that? All the public sees is what’s on the screen.”
“Because I’m telling you. That’s why.”
With his arms folded, Denis leaned against the wall. “You mean, like I tell you that hockey is not mere brute force? That it’s a master game of psychological warfare, plus strength, endurance, and teamwork.”
“Warfare?” I wrinkled my nose. “See? It’s dangerous.”
“So is walking out of your house in the morning.”
Despite how annoying he was, my lips twitched. “You’ve got me there. Listen, I really have to shower. Can I trust you to wait out here?”
“Mon ami. You wound me. Of course. I am like a Boy Scout.”
His smirk morphed into a charming smile that almost made me like him. Shaking my head, I left him to wash up. When I returned, I stopped in my tracks.
On my kitchen island were two place settings. A platter of cut fresh fruit sat between the two plates. There was a package of homemade granola from my favorite bakery, Dominique Ansel, along with a container of plain Greek yogurt, also in my preferred brand. In a small vase was a single pink rose.
“What is this?” I couldn’t stop staring at what he’d done. For me.
“You know, you have a very bad habit of asking obvious questions.” The kettle whistled, and he poured me tea. Loose-leafed in a strainer, not bagged. “Let that steep and come sit. The yogurt won’t stay.”
But I remained where I was. “Why me? This is something you do for a close friend. Something I’m not.”
“That’s debatable.” He crunched some of the granola. “You eat this every day? Bah.” Making a face, he shrugged. “No offense, mon ami, but give me a bagel with a schmear any day.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I think you just like saying schmear.” I wouldn’t tell him, but even Yiddish sounded sexy with his slight French accent. “This is whole grains and protein. Fuel for my body.”
“I prefer eggs and meat in the morning to give me fuel. Not something I might crack my teeth on.”
I sat and spooned yogurt into a bowl, poured some granola, and arranged the fruit. “How did you know what I eat in the morning?”
He popped some grapes into his mouth. “I saw the granola bag on the counter the last time. And you mentioned you eat yogurt.”
“Why are you really here?” I asked as I ate. “I have things to do to prepare for work tomorrow.”
“Because of yesterday,” he said, and my damned traitorous body leaped to life, remembering. Wanting.
Mon cher. Je t’adore.
His tongue in my mouth. Hands on my face.
Did he want to continue? I knew where it would end up. Me under him. I couldn’t allow that.
Could I?
Deciding to play it cool, even as my blood boiled with lust, I ate another spoonful of yogurt.
“What about yesterday?”
His teeth flashed in a smile. “You never admit when you’re wrong, do you? I can see you know I am more than who you thought when we first met, yet you won’t say it.” He leaned across the island, coming dangerously close to invading my personal space. “Say it. Three little words: I was wrong.”
My tea sufficiently strong, I removed the strainer and sipped. “I have three other little words: no, I’m not. And why do you even care what I think? We’re not friends. If it wasn’t for your connection with Adrian, I wouldn’t even know who you were.”
A flash of anger lit those dark-brown eyes. “So you’ll continue to be rude and obnoxious even when I offer peace. That says a lot more about your character than mine.”
“My character is just fine, thank you. And I didn’t ask for this, or want it.
You came to me and basically bullied your way into my home, uninvited.
I’m not interested in friendship. Why don’t you go find someone who’ll be enamored of your star power?
Because you won’t find him here.” I pushed away from the island and walked to the door. “Time to leave.”
“Bullied? Those are dangerous words to casually say.” His face red, Denis strode to me but stopped before leaving. “You’re right. I don’t know why I bothered. We’re not friends, and one gorgeous kiss doesn’t make us lovers. I can find that anywhere. Be alone. That’s what you want.”
He slammed the door behind him, and I stood there stunned.
I returned to the kitchen to eat my breakfast, but the apartment seemed so empty now that Denis had left. His personality brought energy, and he’d taken all that life with him.
“Stop mooning like an overgrown teenager.”
An alert beeped on my phone: Interview on Wednesday for your personal profile story.
Time to get to work and figure out how to make sure my childhood stayed out of the picture. But no matter how I tried, all I could think of was Denis Bouvier and that kiss. And I didn’t know what to do to make it stop.