Chapter 3 #2
His answering smirk unnerves me further. There’s a smugness behind it that puts me off. “Once I get you to my place, I think you’ll change your mind, Wren. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself.” He winks. “I want to prove that I’m more than just my bank account.”
Ugh. And this is another reason why we would never work.
He’s giving me the creepy used car salesman vibe, trying to sell me on a life I ran far away from.
Not to mention, dismissing the fact that my diner is here.
I guess he just figures I’ll give up everything I’ve built for him and for all the lavish things he can “buy” me.
He doesn’t realize that I’m not interested in going from rags to riches.
I grew up in that life, surrounded by people who chose their friends solely on how nice they dressed and what type of car they drove.
Everyone wanting to keep up with the Joneses.
And my parents… They were Mr. and Mrs. Jones, making sure they had the best of the best, and hoping that everyone envied them.
I didn’t fit in in that life. It made me feel empty inside.
No love. No warmth. Just a cesspool of shallowness.
And I certainly am not interested in going back to that life no matter how easy things may be.
I’d rather pound dough day in and day out just to keep this place running than be back in that world.
“Like I said.” I smile. “I wouldn’t hold out hope for us being anything more than friends. But anytime you want to swing on by for some baked goods and a hot cup of coffee, you know where to find me. Now, can I get you something?”
He suddenly shifts forward, leaning right into my ear, and I’d move back except his hand is braced on my arm, keeping me locked in place.
“You don’t have to play hard to get with me, Wren.
I don’t care if you’re just a little baker girl from this small Podunk town.
I fucking love the movie Pretty Woman and would have no qualms showing you off to my friends.
I’d buy you the wardrobe and take you to the finest places. ”
And so much for thinking he was the king of charming. He’s like the douche friend in that movie, making me feel like trash.
“And don’t say no just yet.” He brushes his mouth across my ear, making me tremble with disgust. “You haven’t had my dick between your legs. It will rock your world.”
And just like the douchey friend, he’s acting like I’m a whore who will just spread my legs for him.
God, he’s an arrogant ass. It’s amazing how first impressions can be so misleading.
Even second and third impressions don’t reveal the truth.
But I should know better. You can date a guy for an entire year and not know what’s behind the mask.
But eventually the truth is revealed, and you’re left feeling empty.
Which is why I’m perfectly happy staying single.
The plastic dick that I have tucked inside my nightstand doesn’t give me any false hope or lead me astray.
It doesn’t come attached to a man who will end up disappointing me and breaking my heart.
It shows up when I need it, gets the job done, and then goes away.
It’s the only dick I will ever need in my life.
“Do you want to try the pumpkin loaf?” I ask, moving toward the glass case, trying to get out from under his hold.
“Or if you like lemon, then our lemon tarts are not to be missed. They’re one of my biggest sellers.
” I plaster the smile back in place, counting down the seconds until I can go lock myself in the office and be done with people today.
His answering smirk sends another shiver down my spine. “I’ll have one of the cherry tarts. Cherries are my favorite. Red and ripe, and oh so sweet.” He leans in again. “I think the reason you’re so nervous is because you’re still holding that cherry of yours. Am I right?”
And there he goes presuming I’m a virgin and assuming that’s why I’m playing hard to get.
If he doesn’t leave my sight soon, I’m liable to shove the damn cherry tart all over his high-end suit.
Goodness, I can’t believe how wrong I was about him.
Then again, I’ve always been wrong when it comes to men.
I get sucked in by the good looks and the smooth words and realize too late that it’s all a lie.
This time though, I didn’t fall. Mainly, because I no longer have a heart to fall with.
It’s still locked up in a cell and burning in an inferno of hell.
“Here you go! One cherry tart.” I place the bag on the counter, ignoring his irritating comment.
“That will be five-fifty, unless there’s anything else you want.
” Please just go. Please just take your pastry and get the hell out of my diner before I make a scene.
I don’t want to be the gossip of this town.
And if I go telling off Mr. Moneybags, everyone will have something to say about it.
“There’s definitely something else I want, Wren. But I’m a patient man.” He slips a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change, pretty girl. And buy yourself something sexy to wear on our date. Preferably something short and tight that will show off all your incredible curves.”