Break Your Heart Page 8

  “So, what do you want to do when you graduate?” I asked. “Any plans?”

  “My cousin works for a company that gathers and analyzes statistical data for businesses. He says there’s a job for me if I want it.”

  “That sounds neat. Are you into statistics?”

  “Yeah, I like data.”

  I waited for him to expand on that, but he just sat there and ate another piece of bruschetta. Okay then.

  Time ticked on. It was painful—Dallas didn’t ask me any questions about myself, nor did he offer up much commentary on anything other than how good the appetizer was. When the waiter brought our dinner, I ordered another glass of wine, and he must have figured it was okay to drink again, because he got a fresh beer.

  I was halfway through my fettuccine Alfredo when he said, “So I hear you date a lot of athletes.”

  I froze midbite. Put my fork down and eyed him. He was staring right back at me. Apparently Lightweight’s alcohol had kicked in hard-core. “And?”

  He blinked. “Um. Well, I’m not an athlete.”

  I just stared. What the hell point was he getting at here?

  “You look really pretty tonight.” His eyes dipped to my cleavage, lingered, then swept back up to my face and my wild curls. “I’ve wanted to touch your hair since the first time I saw you.”

  I couldn’t help the shocked laugh that barked out of me. “Have you ever been on a date before, Dallas?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” Oh Lord. I just turned my attention to my plate. Shovel fast, I told myself. I’d be home soon enough, enjoying ice cream and pretending this never happened. Hopefully he’d get too drunk tonight to remember how awful this was so class on Monday wouldn’t be crazy awkward.

  Dallas tried to throw out a few inane comments about the people around us as he downed his fourth beer. I noticed his speech was getting a bit slurred and his gaze kept dipping to my breasts. He was no longer making any pretense of subtlety about it. Normally I didn’t care if a guy checked me out. I felt good about myself—I wasn’t embarrassed or modest, and so long as they didn’t get creepy about it, all was fine. But for some reason, he was putting me off tonight. Maybe because this date had been a total flop, nothing like I’d thought it would be.

  Dallas had turned out to be like every other guy, after all. Interested not in the space between my ears but in what he could touch and see. That was disappointing. Unsatisfying. Which both surprised and unsettled me. Maybe I was just burned out on casual dating. Maybe I was ready for something more substantial.

  I didn’t even bother finishing my second glass of wine. He paid for the meal—at least he did something right tonight. I tugged on my coat and followed him out the door.

  “So, what now?” he asked as we approached my car. Thank God I’d driven separately. I just wanted to leave.

  “Now it’s time for me to go home,” I said in an upbeat tone. It was so hard to maintain my manners, but I tried. I thrust out my hand. “Thanks for asking me out, Dallas. Hope you have a good evening.”

  He took my fingers in his and squeezed them, then stroked my hand with his thumb. His palm was super sweaty. I could hear his breath coming out in a rush. He stepped closer, peered down at me. His mouth was inches from mine. “So, can I get a good night kiss?”

  My jaw dropped. Seriously? I just stared at him. He stared back.

  “No, I don’t think so.” I removed my hand, dug into my purse and got my keys. As subtly as I could, I swiped my now sweat-slicked palm across the inner lining of my coat. Gross. “Good night.” I ducked into my car before he could say anything else.

  As I drove home, I called up Kelly and bitched to her about how badly the date went. She laughed so hard she snorted, which actually helped lighten my mood and made me laugh too.

  “You just don’t even know, girl,” I said with a groan. “It was awful. I was probably his first date ever, I swear.”

  “I can’t believe he got drunk. You must have looked really hot.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I could have looked like a yeti and he still would have been awkward. It was just never gonna be amazing. So, you still in for tomorrow night?” We’d firmed up plans to spend Valentine’s Day evening eating Chinese takeout and watching Kill Bill 1 and 2—the least romantic movies ever. It was going to be awesome.

  “All over it.”

  I pulled into my complex and parked. “Okay, I’m home. Thanks for listening to me whine. I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

  We hung up. I went right into the apartment, into my room and stripped off my clothes, tossing on comfy jeans and a sweater. I was tempted to drink more wine, but I decided on a soda instead.

  I hopped online and checked out my social media. Since it was a Friday night, I saw a bunch of pics of people going out and drinking, partying. Blech. I was so not in the mood for that right now. I checked email and saw one from Nick.

  Dear students,

  Attached you’ll find a supplementary article for Monday’s discussion. Please read it before class. If you have any questions or are unable to download it, let me know ASAP.

  For some reason, I wanted to talk to him. I told myself it was because he was an intelligent man who saw more to me than just a pair of boobs. He valued my smarts. And if I closed my eyes, I could still taste his kiss on my mouth. That conversation in his office had haunted me more than I wanted to admit.

  I was weak, I knew. But I couldn’t resist.

  Dear Professor Nick,

  Thank you for the document. I’ll be sure to read it—probably right now, in fact. As you can tell, I’m at home on a Friday night. Obviously you should envy my social life. :-P

  Megan

  My email chimed a few minutes later.

  Since I’m responding to you on a Friday night, you should envy my social life as well. Or maybe we can just call it a draw. :-) Kinda surprised you’re not at The Mask or somewhere else . . . ? Didn’t you say your roommate is the DJ?

  Another email came right on the heels of that one.

  How have you been?

  Oh, how to answer that question. Should I be truthful? Or should I be socially polite? I couldn’t tell which one he wanted from me. I spent a few minutes waffling. Then I typed,

  I’ve been busy, studying and working and stuff. Nothing crazy going on.

  Yes, Casey is the DJ. I was out earlier, but . . . let’s just say it didn’t go well. So I’m in and relaxing now.

  Some things have been on my mind all week.

  I hit send, my hands shaking and my stomach flipping over itself. That was forward of me, to hint that I’d been unable to stop thinking about him and our kiss, and I had no idea how he’d respond. But he’d asked, so I’d answered. The temptation had been too great to not see what would happen.

  He wrote back:

  I’m grading papers and listening to my old record player right now—parents gave it to me a few years ago when they complained about the “crap” I listened to. It’s funny how they don’t realize you can get some new releases on vinyl. haha

  I hadn’t planned on staying in tonight. I was going to go out with some friends of mine. But I wasn’t in the mood.

  And some things have been on my mind all week too.

  My heart leaped to my throat. I stared at his email for several minutes until I almost had the words memorized. When I finally wrote him back, I asked what albums he had, said that I was interested in buying a record player too (plus, Casey was a huge fan of vinyl) and I’d love recommendations.

  I wasn’t sure how much time passed as we talked. And I didn’t care. Our messages went back and forth, the trail of our conversation growing longer. I learned he was a fan of old metal, like Metallica, but also of the Beastie Boys and old hip-hop. I confessed I had a soft spot for eighties groups like Hall & Oates, and he addressed the next email to “Maneater.”

  Our messages weren’t overtly flirty at first, but there was an undertone that vibrated with awareness. I couldn’t help but th
ink about his fingers typing away on his laptop or desktop. Those intense eyes locked on the screen. Our words grew more intimate as we shared favorite music memories. He told me about going to classical concerts with his dad. I wrote back how my dad’s love of the Beatles had grown on me, and I owned all of their CDs.

  Since my bedroom door was open, I heard a key scrape the lock, and then Casey walked in. She paused in surprise as she eyed me.

  “Wow, you’re up late,” she murmured as she dropped her bag on the couch.

  I glanced at the time—it was well after two. I’d long since finished my soda and had moved on to drinking coffee, not wanting to grow tired or end the conversation. “Yeah, just talking.”

  “How did your date go? Obviously not that great,” she said in a teasing voice, “since you’re on the computer and not with him.”

  I groaned and rolled my eyes. “It was a total dud. He got drunk and ogled me, then tried to press me for a kiss at the end of the night. Uh, no.”

  “Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.” Casey stretched and yawned. She took off her boots and padded across the floor to give me a hug. Her warmth enveloped me, and I smiled. It still seemed so crazy to have her reach over and touch me like this. She was growing more natural at it now. “I’m exhausted. Going to bed—let’s chat more about it tomorrow. Night!”

  I heard her door close behind her and turned my attention back to the computer. Nick’s latest message was facing me, waiting for a response. I wrote:

  I had no idea it had gotten so late. I’m sorry for keeping you up this long. I know you were going to do some grading.

  His reply came a few minutes later:

  I’m a late-night guy by nature, so I would have been up anyway. No big deal—and nothing to apologize for. I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Megan. Far more entertaining than grading freshman math tests. As you can imagine, lol.

  The lightness in my chest dampened, and my old friend embarrassment came sweeping back in. I’d inflated this conversation beyond what it actually had meant. Had given it more meaning, more intimacy, because I’d wanted to believe those feelings were there. I’d needed it, actually, especially after that crappy date.

  I started composing an email telling him good night when he followed up his message with a new one.

  I don’t know about you, but the coffee in my house is crappy. I know a great diner open 24 hours where we can get good, hot java. It would give us a chance to discuss your thesis revisions as well . . . ? No pressure. Just figured if we were both awake, we could be awake together.

  That buoyancy came back in a rush that made me almost dizzy. From the wording of his request, we both knew we were crossing a line here with definite intent. No alcohol involved, nothing else to blame it on.

  And yet there was no way I could say no. Every molecule in my body ached to see him. Hours of typing had built this need in me to be with him, only him. No other man had stimulated my mind or my body this fast before. Not even close. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to smell that soap scent and pretend I had a chance at him being mine.

  I dragged in a shaky breath and wrote back, Tell me where to meet you.

  Chapter 10

  “This place is awesome,” I declared as I looked around.

  We had just gotten nestled in a back booth at an old-fashioned diner on the east side of Cleveland, a good half hour from campus. The place was filled with a variety of people buzzing in and out, talking about politics and books and celebrities and breakups and every topic under the sun. On the walls were black-and-white photographs of people I didn’t know. Probably old celebrities. I thought I recognized a 1950s actor though.

  Our table was lacquered and gleaming, and the puffy black booth was comfortable. This was a place made for lingering, for conversation. The scent of frying meat and French fries made my mouth water. I bet their burgers were to die for.

  Across the table from me, Nick grinned. He had on a gray long-sleeved T-shirt; his coat and scarf were discarded beside him. With cheeks flushed from the cold and a bright smile, he looked disarming. I could scarcely catch my breath. “I grew up around the corner from here. My folks and I ate at this place all the time.”

  My hands shook a little as I picked up the menu and attempted to focus on it. I was trying so hard to be cool and self-assured. Nick, however, was completely at ease, not unnerved by me at all.

  Was this how Dallas had felt earlier tonight with me? I suddenly felt a little bad over how I’d judged him about his nervousness. No, it didn’t make me like him or want to date him again—it was vastly apparent he and I were incompatible. But maybe I could do with a bit more empathy in general. I had picked up a bad habit of judging people before thinking things through.

  There was no alcohol in this diner, so I had to make do with faking confidence tonight. I didn’t want to drink anyway. I loved beer, but sometimes it played wonky with my emotions. I said things I didn’t mean to say, did things I shouldn’t. I needed all of my senses to get through this experience without doing something I’d regret later.

  “So what do you recommend I try?” I asked him evenly, studying the burger selection. When I didn’t get an answer, I looked up and saw him staring at me. “What?”

  His lips curved at the edges of his mouth. “Nothing.” He paused. “Okay, it’s kinda weird, being here in person with you after we just spent hours talking in email,” he admitted with a faint shrug. “Through email, it’s easier to talk in a way, because of the faceless aspect. And now I feel goofy for having admitted that.” He chuckled.

  The fact that he confessed that took away some of my unease. So his confidence was a front too. We were both nervous.

  “It’s not goofy. I totally get it. You know, I haven’t done that in ages—just talked with someone that way. Usually I have a quick text or phone conversation. Get right to the point and move on with my day.” There was something much more intimate about how we’d shared our thoughts, in a way that couldn’t be attained in texts.

  “Me too.” He cleared his throat and dug into the leather satchel he’d brought, whipping out my thesis paper. “Um, so here. I have a few last thoughts on passages that could be tighter, but you did a great job with your revisions. One last cleanup should have you ready to go.”

  I took a few minutes to scan it over. He was right; his feedback had made the paper stronger. I had a feeling I was going to do well—there was hardly any revision left to do at all. I peered up at him as I folded the paper in half and stuck it in my bag. “Thank you again. I really appreciate all your help.”

  “No problem. It was my pleasure.” I could tell by the earnestness in his tone that he really did enjoy it.

  The waitress came by with our coffee, then took our food orders. I loaded mine with sugar, and we sipped and sat in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t awkward though. Just a comfortable lull in the conversation, filled by the hum of voices around us. I furtively studied his face over my drink. I could see faint laugh lines around his eyes. The stubble on his chin and jaw. The flare of his thick eyelashes. His face was striking.

  I remembered that mouth on mine, and my cheeks burned. I looked away. “So did you grow up in the Cleveland area?”

  He nodded. “Local all my life. You?”

  “Same. I love it here. Can’t see myself living anywhere else. My favorite thing when I was a kid was going downtown during the holidays and seeing Terminal Tower lit up in red and green.”

  “I used to go ice skating downtown,” he said with a soft laugh. “On the outdoor rink in Public Square. My mom would freak out because I’d fly on the ice. She was sure I was going to break my neck with my daredevil antics.”

  “Are you a speed demon?”

  He gave a wicked laugh that shot straight to my lower belly. “Let’s just say I’ve gotten a few tickets in my time.”

  “I drive like a grandma,” I replied primly to cover up my very vivid sexual reaction to his laugh. “And I’ve never gotten a ticket.”
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  He raised a brow. “Interesting. For some reason, I would have pegged you for a risk taker.”

  “Oh, I am,” I agreed with a laugh. “But not in something that could kill me.”

  “So what do you take risks in?” He leaned forward, gaze hot and hard on mine.

  My pulse picked up. My lips parted and I licked them. He dropped his eyes to look at my mouth, and his pupils flared.

  We were both thinking about that kiss, I knew it. That damn kiss that haunted me. All. The. Time. That had been a huge risk.

  “Well, I’ve dated some douche bags I really shouldn’t have,” I said breathlessly, making him bark out a laugh the way I’d hoped it would. That eased the sexual tension a touch. I swallowed. “Um, plus I learned how to shoot a gun when I was sixteen.”

  That made him blink. “Why?”

  “Dad wanted me to know. He likes to hunt occasionally. When I was a kid I begged him to take me, but he made me wait.” I paused. “I’m an excellent shot, if you can believe it.” I hadn’t been to the range with Dad since I’d started college, actually. I made a mental note to hit him up for another trip. I didn’t want my shooting to grow rusty.

  “I do.” There was more than a little admiration in his dark eyes. “I bet those math skills come in handy.”

  “Surprisingly, it’s more intuition than math. You learn how to feel the shot. I’ll take you to a range sometime.” When I realized what I said, I stopped. Gave an awkward laugh and waved my hand in the air, rolling my eyes at myself. “I mean, you know, if that was something you wanted to do. I don’t want to assume anything—”