His statement was so far out of left field all I could say was, “What?”
“He had the perfect excuse to see her again. It would be all right and proper if I was returning your shoe.”
“It would be weird,” I told him, taking in what he’d just said and then focusing on the important part. “You wanted to see me again?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
Because I’d already rejected him? Was he a glutton for punishment? “If it would help you out I could get you one of my shoes.”
“No need,” he said, mirroring my stance, crossing his arms as well. “I’ve already been caught out not having a plan. I was hoping I’d see your lovely face and something would come to me.”
I ignored the way my stomach quivered over his use of the word lovely. “Has it?”
“No. I’ve never been good at reacting quickly to situations where I have to make a snap decision, so it shouldn’t surprise me that this would all blow up and you’d think me strange.”
I tried to hide my smile. “I don’t think you’re strange.”
“You don’t?” he asked, as if it were the most important thing in the world that I think well of him. The expression in his eyes was so endearing, so adorable.
He was not charming. I was not charmed by him. Not.
“You’d think someone with a degree from Oxford could have come up with a good excuse,” I said.
Shrugging his shoulders playfully he said, “Yes, I’ve shamed the hallowed halls of that institution. But is it my fault that you render me incapable of coming up with a decent lie?”
His words made me want things that couldn’t be.
“Can you stop doing that?” I asked him.
“Stop doing what?” He seemed genuinely confused. As if he wasn’t aware of what he was doing.
I waved my hand. “This. This whole charm offensive you’re trying to launch.”
“I can turn the charm down, but I don’t believe I can turn it off completely,” he said with a disarming grin that proved his point.
Fine. I could deal with a charmed-down man. Just barely, but it was possible.
What I couldn’t do, however, was control my mouth. “What’s wrong with you?”
“A great deal, I’m sure. What specifically were you curious about?”
“Most men that I’m a . . .” I’d almost said attracted to. Out loud. With my whole face. Wow. I really was losing it. “Most men that I meet are usually messed up in some major way. They tend not to treat women very well.”
“Whyever not? I find women to be incredible creatures.”
“Creatures?” I repeated with a note of disgust.
“It’s a term of endearment.”
“For a bunny. Not for a woman.”
He took a step closer to me, and my heartbeat kicked up its pace. “You wouldn’t like it if I called you Bunny?”
Uh, I would like that very much, please and thank you.
I got a mental image of him murmuring Bunny against my throat and I nearly spontaneously combusted. “No,” I said, clearing my throat. “No, I would not like that and there would probably be a blunt object accompanying my outrage.”
“Duly noted,” he said with a laugh. “Perhaps that’s what’s wrong with me.”
I had to shake my head to stop those mental images from proceeding. “Are you a cheater?”
“At cards?”
“No, with women.”
“I never have, no.”
Why did I find that so hard to believe? “You’ve never cheated on anybody?”
“Do most of the men you’ve met do that?”
“Yes. Every single one that I’ve ever met.”
Griffin studied me for a second, like I was a puzzle he was trying to figure out but he couldn’t find the corner pieces he needed to get started. “I have an aunt that I adore and her husband has cheated on her their entire marriage—going on thirty years now. I’ve seen the pain it’s caused her and how it’s broken her spirit. I could never do that to someone I care about.”
“Why doesn’t she divorce him?”
“Because she would stop being a marchioness.”
“So?” That literally made no sense to me.
“To some people that’s everything.”
In what world? “Well, it doesn’t mean anything to me.”
He grinned. “That’s why I like you.”
I wanted his words to mean something. To not be some charming, flirtatious response that he had probably doled out to dozens of girls before me. “You only like me because you can’t have me.”
He raised both eyebrows and shrugged one shoulder in a way that very much said not yet.
Now I was annoyed. “Do you think that’s going to change?”
“Life is about change.”
Despite his assertion, nothing was going to change here. Not the way he wanted it to, anyway. Time to talk about something else. I recalled what he’d said when he first arrived. “Earlier, you said something about gathering intel?”
“Yes, well, we left things a little muddled last night, didn’t we? With how we ended things. Or didn’t.”
“What are you referring to specifically?” Because I felt like I’d been pretty clear. Well, clear-ish.
“You said we could be friends. Does that mean we can hang out? Spend time together?”
I was far too excited at this prospect. Which should have been a flashing neon sign to tell him no, he’d misunderstood, shake his hand, and send him on his way. Especially with all his “life is about change” nonsense. “Technically, yes. I suppose.”
“Brilliant. Why don’t you give me your number so that I can ring you properly next time?”
The digits of my phone number—which I hoped were right, considering I hadn’t had the number for very long—just fell out of my mouth, and he put the number into his cell. Some part of me kept repeating that this was a bad idea, but I had already agreed to a friendship. It just seemed rude to say no to that now, particularly given that I’d just told him (again) that we wouldn’t be dating. It wasn’t Griffin’s fault that my ovaries wanted to throw a parade every time I saw him. I could control myself.
I could. And I would.
My phone buzzed and I glanced down to see a hi text from him. That reminded me of what I’d promised Alice.
“Can I ask for a weird favor?”
“Anything,” he said in a way that made my stomach all twisty with anticipation.
“Can I get a photo of you?”
“Of us together?” he asked.
“No, just you.”
“Why?” His tone was suspicious and I realized that he was probably worried that I might try to sell it to a tabloid or something.
“Do you remember my sister? The one who’s a fan?”
“Ah yes. The sister with excellent taste.”
“She asked me to send her a photo of you. To prove that I wasn’t making this up.” It might do me good to have a picture of him, too. Because sometimes I wondered if this was some kind of fever dream that I’d accidentally walked into and I was going to wake back up in my old apartment surrounded by vermin.