Would his nipples pop under her fingertips? Would his stomach muscles clench if she ran a hand over them? A throb started up between her legs, and she took another slug of beer to cool herself down.
“Maybe I just prefer a quiet life,” she said in answer to his question.
His look was incredulous. “If this is you preferring a quiet life, Tequila Girl, then you are going about it all wrong.”
Tequila Girl. He’d come up with a nickname for her. Swoon.
He gestured with his hand toward her. “So the online stuff about you and Gallagher was all garbage?”
“Sure, but I don’t see why I have to confirm or deny. It’s no one’s business but mine and Kent’s.”
“So you don’t mind people talking crap about you?”
“Of course I mind.” It came out sharply, belying her cool-girl-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. Then quieter, she added, “But people are going to say whatever they want. Make up their own narratives. I can’t change that.”
“Like the Pepper Curse.”
“That’s what they called it. Which is why I …” She paused, unsure how to phrase it.
“Why you what?”
Ran from you that night in Jimmy’s Tap. She was trying to save him, not from any actual curse, which was ridiculous, but from the sheer negativity that seemed to follow her like a bad smell. But just like those Final Destination movies, the Grim Reaper always found a way. Or Lady Bad Luck.
“Could we talk about anything else but my sordid tabloid history?”
“Sure, how about mine?”
She laughed. “You don’t have one. You’re Mr. Nice Guy, never a bad word. In fact, you choose carefully, don’t you?”
“Women? Well, I don’t do drama, so that kind of dictates my sex life. Except for the last woman I dated.”
She was surprised he’d volunteered that. “What happened there?”
“She moved on.”
“After you were injured?” She had suspected as much. Marina Morgan had dated an NFL player quite soon after Bast.
“Women are fickle,” Bast said. “They like winners, and anything less than that has them looking for the exit.”
“Not all women. Some will stick around, trying to help even if it seems pointless.” Heat rose to her cheeks. She turned away to stir the pasta water.
The heat didn’t stay on her face. Her whole body warmed with the weight of Bast’s stare on her back.
Finally he spoke. “Injuries weren’t what Marina signed on for.”
“That’s horrible. Whatever happened to in sickness and in health?”
“We weren’t quite at that stage.” He looked thoughtful. “So you’re the kind who would stick around when the going got tough?”
Yes, she was loyal to a fault. Just ask Kent. She could tell Bast about her ex, how she tried to get him the help he needed, but it would open about ten cans of worms.
“I like to think I’m not all that fickle. I talked to you in that bar, didn’t I?”
Now that surprised him. He wasn’t expecting a wry call back to their first encounter. Not only did it surprise him, it pleased him.
“Yeah, you weren’t fussy at all.” But a second later, the air changed. “But you were in a hurry to leave. I’m guessing you weighed your options and decided I wasn’t such a good bet.”
She tried to parse that. “Wait, you think I left—or tried to leave—because I thought you weren’t a … winner?”
He shrugged, took another sip of beer. Hurt rolled off him in waves. This injury had really messed with his head.
“Not at all, Bast. I was really enjoying talking to you, but letting it go on any longer was leading you on. Once you knew who I was, it would—”
“End the way it did. With me being a jerk and you feeling ashamed.”
She nodded.
“So if I was any other guy, or reacted any other way, you might have stayed?”
“I wished you were someone else. Just like you wished I was someone else.”
That was either the best thing or the worst thing she could say. His nostrils flared in … anger? Or something else?
She stirred the pasta, keeping her eye on him. “I didn’t ruin your life that night, but it came around again.”
There was that look of incredulity again. “Wait, do you actually believe this Pepper Curse business?”
“No. But I’m not the luckiest person.”
He squinted at her. “Connor said you were always breaking things.”
“You spoke to Connor about me?”
He tapped a finger on the table. “I wanted to know what happened with Gallagher.”
“Why?”
“Because …” He seemed to change his intent mid-sentence. “I didn’t like seeing people pile on, and I needed some background. Connor was less than informative, and I see you’re not much better. Which is fine. It’s none of my business. If you want to play the martyr, then go ahead.”
Now hold on. “I’m not playing the martyr.”
“Sure you are. You say you’re trying to keep your head down, looking for a quiet life. But you’re doing the worst job of it. You’ve already taken out Gallagher with his dump in the minors. How did you manage to cause all that?” He held up a finger. “Oh, right, you broke his heart and he went on some sort of bender, then you refused to defend yourself.”
“I’m not saying it’s my fault—”
“Just enough to feel like you’re the victim here.”
“I don’t feel like the victim. But the press is being unfair to me. And so are you.”
“Oh, really? Well, here’s some news, Pepper. You’re getting some shit from the press, which is going to blow over. You know what won’t blow over?” He held up his arm. “This. This is now a serious fucking issue. This could be my life going forward. There might always be a weakness here and that’s something I have to live with. Something real that affects my career, not some hokey black cat, spilled salt, walking under a ladder shit curse that doesn’t exist.”
“I’m not asking you to believe it. I’m asking you to stay away from me.”
“Now she tells me!” He stood and approached her, his uninjured hand thrown in the air to make some very important point, she was sure. “You think I want to be here with you, stuck in this too-fucking-small cottage with one bed and you shaking your damn ass? You think that I don’t for a second regret stepping in like some ridiculous white knight, telling off your dad and the press? Or shoving Deacon over so now my sponsors are wondering about ditching me?”
“I didn’t ask you to do that! I didn’t ask you to send dirty looks to my father, or talk back to the press, or push Curtis Deacon over like a skittle. And I certainly didn’t ask to be driven to this pimple town in the middle of nowhere so I can spend all my time looking at you and your dumb muscles and your too-handsome face. It’s not fair, Bast. None of this is fair.”
She gestured wildly at his chest which was mere inches from her, and of course that out-of-control motion resulted in her grazing his skin. Later she would analyze this moment and think: I flapped my hand around on purpose, hopeful of touching hot, bare skin and hard, unyielding chest.