I work up an appetite like that every night,” I say, having no doubt he does the same himself. I remember his reputation back at Oxford.
He flips the pancake, turns and leans back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankle. Seriously, could he make the pose look any sexier? I want to tell him to put a shirt on already, but I don’t want him to know the true effect his near nakedness has on me.
“Is that right?” he asks.
“That’s right.”
“Is that why you don’t want to get married? You like having a different guy in your bed every night?” He shrugs. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’m just curious.” He flips the pancakes again and then plates them, sliding them across the island. I breathe in the delicious smell as he grabs the syrup.
“Why so curious?” I ask as I pour a generous amount of syrup over my pancakes.
“It’s the lawyer in me.”
“It’s the lawyer in me that keeps me single.”
He forks a big bite into his mouth, chews and then says, “How so?”
“I’m a divorce lawyer. I see the worst in people all the time, and if you know anything about my family, the guys move from woman to woman constantly.” Tate’s dad, Uncle Don, is the latest example. He married his fourth wife several months ago. Half the family didn’t bother skipping work to attend. Carson family weddings have become so run-of-the-mill... Sounds scornful but it’s the truth.
“Tate’s not like that.”
I smile. “No, he’s one of the good guys.”
“Then you’re saying there are good guys out there?”
I laugh. “Way to twist my words. You must win a lot of cases.”
“I win enough.” He takes another bite, lounging against the island.
“You really don’t want to get married. I never would have guessed that about you,” he says, redirecting the conversation back to me.
“I don’t do relationships, don’t do love and I don’t sleep with the same guy twice. Believe me, I know happily-ever-after doesn’t exist. I see that every day.”
A moment of silence as he absorbs that, and then he says, “Your job is doing a number on you. Do you even like what you do?”
I take a long moment to think about it. “Some days, I guess.”
“You did family law at Oxford?”
A question, not a statement, but I answer anyway. “That’s right.”
“I wonder if we ever ran into each other, attended any of the same parties.”
“The guys in their Oxford hoodies.” I wave my fork. “I couldn’t tell one apart from the other. You all looked alike.”
“Ah, the hoodies. They were all the rage back then. I wore mine to every party.”
“I remember,” I say. Then when his eyes lift to mine, I add, “I mean I remember the hoodies. I don’t remember you in one at any party.” Wow, for a girl who hates to lie, I’m really nailing it here. “By the way, these pancakes are delicious,” I add, wanting to change the conversation.
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