“Yes, of course. I was actually just about to ask.” The waiter comes over and sets down a few waters before giving us a few more minutes to look over the menu. I take a sip, wishing it was something stronger to get me through this dinner with Catherine.

“Okay, so I flew in on Thursday and immediately hit up the shops. Michael Kors had this fabulous bag . . .” and she goes on and on and on. Being in this uppity circle, I guess I’m supposed to care about these handbags, shoes, and designer dresses. But it’s really hard to muster up enthusiasm for shit that doesn’t really matter. Thankfully, the waiter comes to take our orders right before she went into everything she bought at Chanel.

After thirty minutes of talking about her shopping extravaganza, I want to shoot myself. She makes a joke about a celebrity she saw shopping at one of the stores she was in.

“She was wearing this god-awful frock looking thing. I don’t know who her stylist is, but they need to be fired immediately. Anyway, I walked up to her and told her the truth. It made her butt look big and the color was truly heinous on her. Do you know she asked me if I wanted a job as a stylist?” She tilts her head back slightly and laughs. I join in even though I don’t find her story all that funny. Glancing over at Alex, he cuts me a look from the corner of his eye and I know he can tell I’m faking it. It’s truly telling that no one else in my life picks up on this, but the reason no one knows it’s phony is because it’s the only laugh they’ve ever heard leave my lips.

Except for Alex.

He broke me out of my shell briefly on our hike, and I laughed for the first time in forever when I fell into that stream. It was such a cathartic moment, but also one that I regret. Not because I didn’t have fun; I did. But because it’s another piece of my puzzle that Alex holds and one step closer at figuring me out.

“HOLY HELL YOU can’t seriously like that woman!” Alex says once we’re in the car. I turn to him, my face scrunched up in offense.

“Yes, she’s my friend.” I try to assert as much conviction free of sarcasm into my words as possible, hoping this isn’t another thing he can call bullshit on.

He snorts in return, stifling a full on laugh. “Yeah, right. You guys couldn’t be more different if you tried. I’m telling ya, at one point I was wishing I was back in Afghanistan instead of standing next to that table listening to her.” My mouth and eyes widen in surprise, mildly shocked that he’d say something like that. He glances away from the road to look at me and I catch a glimpse of the half smile he’s trying to hide.

Sighing, I lay back against the headrest of the seat. “She’s not that bad once you get to know her,” I say in an exasperated tone. I’m lying because she is just as bad, if not worse, once you get to know her. I’ve just learned to filter out about half of what she says.

“Oh, come on! Admit it, you don’t like her.” My eyes narrow into slits when I turn my head in his direction. He’s goading me and I don’t appreciate it. I cross my arms over my chest and ignore him. “You can tell me the truth, you know? I’m not going to judge you because you don’t like a materialistic, self-centered, egotistical snob.” He says the last part with a bit of sarcasm, looking over at me waiting for my answer. There’s something that passes briefly in his eyes and it makes me wonder if this is something he wants to hear for more than one reason. Maybe he wants to see the best in me and believe that I couldn’t possibly be anything like women like that despite my efforts to appear that I am.

“No,” I say quietly. “I don’t like her.” I’m not sure why, but I feel like one brick has been lifted from my shoulders, lightening the burden I’ve been carrying for so long now. A sense of relief passes through me briefly at the admission.

“See, don’t you feel better now?” When I look over at him, the smug look I hate is stretched across his perfect face. It infuriates me.

“Do you have to be so smug and cocky all the time? You don’t have to always rub it in when you’re right.” I look out my side window, watching the trees pass by until his next comment makes my breath hitch.

“Oh, I can be a lot cockier if given the chance, sweetheart,” he says in a low, sexy tone. I swallow hard, trying to erase the vision that sentence just put in my head. I decide it’s best if I don’t respond to that statement. My brain is already all over the place when it comes to Alex and I don’t need to fog it up anymore by analyzing what he just said.

The first thing I do when we get home is change into some comfortable clothes. I’m tired of being in heels and stuffy, pretentious clothing. Once I’m changed, I go back downstairs to get a glass of water. As I’m about to enter the kitchen, the sight in front of me stops me in my tracks.

Alex’s back is to me. He has divested himself of his suit jacket and is wearing slacks that hug his rear in all the right ways with a dress shirt that is stretched across his broad back. White knuckled hands firmly grip the edge of the island, his weight bearing down on his arms with his head hung low. He looks tortured, and I’m not sure why. The need to comfort him is so strong that I find my feet carrying me in his direction on their own accord.

“Alex?” I say gently as to not startle him. He turns to face me and all I see is this defeated look on his face. “Are you alright?” I walk closer to him and place my hand on his forearm as a gesture of comfort.

“Look, I’m really sorry for my comment in the car; it was inappropriate. I know we’ve gotten to know each other a bit recently, but I didn’t mean to cross the line, so I’m sorry.” This is probably the first sincere apology I’ve ever gotten in my adult life. Regret flashes in his eyes as he waits for my forgiveness.

“It’s fine, Alex. Really. If anything, it’s refreshing to have someone joke around and not treat me like a child.”

“You just got real quiet so I was worried I offended you.” He glances down at my hand, which is still placed on his arm. I withdraw, breaking the physical connection.

“No, I just didn’t want to emasculate you, so I decided to keep silent,” I tease.

“Emasculate? How?” His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion and curiosity.

“Well, you said, ‘Oh, I can be a lot cockier if given the chance, sweetheart,’” I try to imitate his voice, causing him to crack a tiny smile. “I was going to say, ‘Don’t worry. You won’t be getting any chances here, so I’m not worried about seeing your cock . . . ier side.’” Truth be told, I had absolutely no comeback to his comment in the car, but I don’t want him worrying about offending me anymore. Plus, talking like this makes me feel rebellious. I’d never dream of speaking so crudely in front of Cal. He’d have a stroke for sure.

A slow, heart-stopping smile spreads across his face, and the look from before is replaced by what I can only describe as a predatory stare. “Is that so?” he asks, taking unhurried steps toward me. Each one causing me to take a step back in return. I’m speechless, the bravado I was feeling seconds ago has suddenly vanished. I keep backing up until my back hits the wall and I have nowhere else to go. Alex cages me in with his arms placed on the wall on either side of my head. He leans in until our noses are almost touching, his breath hitting my lips. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says mockingly, no doubt in response to when I was imitating him, “Trust me, you’re not quite ready to see that side of me.” His voice drops an octave, causing my thighs to clench together tightly while moisture pools in my panties. Neither one of us moves, the only sound is of our breaths picking up as we glance from each other’s eyes, down to our lips. My tongue instinctively darts out to wet them and that seems to snap Alex out of whatever trance he was in.