Page 74 of This Could Be Us
“I went to Cornell’s School of Hotel Administration and ended up working in a really nice hotel all through college.”
“Wow. Impressed.”
“Whatever, MIT.”
“How’d you know I went to MIT?”
“Edward always said, ‘Just because that asshole went to MIT, he thinks he knows everything.’”
“Ahhh.” I slide my hands in my pockets and lean against the wall, smiling a little arctically at the mention of her repulsive ex. “You two met there? At Cornell?”
“Yeah. I had a scholarship to cover tuition, but everything else was on me. With two parents who were librarians, we weren’t exactly balling.” She shrugs. “When I graduated, I had trouble finding a job rightaway, so I stayed on working at the hotel. Learned a lot about hospitality, ambience, food, service.”
“So that’s how you got so good at what you do?”
“I always say I have a bachelor’s in hotel admin and a master’s in Pinterest.”
I smile at that and proffer the bottle in my hand. “You sure you don’t want a beer? Wine? Water?”
Her easy humor melts away, and she shakes her head, sobering. “Did you ask Delores to offer me the Christmas party?”
I could lie, but what would be the use? “Yes.”
“Why?” Her pretty, lush mouth thins into a flat line. “And don’t bullshit me, Judah. Tell me the real reason.”
“I wanted to see you again. Do I seem like the kind of man who would leave something I wanted to chance?”
“I can’t say. I don’t know you that well.”
“We could fix that. Besides, I figured you could use the money.”
“You’re right. I can. Well, thank you for—”
“But mostly I just wanted to see you again.”
She frowns at me like I’m a riddle she’s not sure how to begin solving.
“You said no bullshit.” I don’t look away from her and will her not to look away from me. “Both those things are true.”
“I can’t…” She licks her lips and lets out a long sigh. “You know I’m not dating.”
“I don’t plan to ask you out.”
“Then what… I don’t understand your endgame here.”
“It’s not an endgame.” I push away from the wall and step close, carefully lift the curls around her hairline away from her face. “It’s a begin game.”
I pull away almost before I get to feel the soft fineness of her hair, but she goes still, like she’s glued to the spot.
“What does that mean? ‘Begin game’?”
“It’s a long game. I don’t want to interfere with all you’re doing, howyou’re working on yourself. I think it’s awesome, but if I can find a way to see you, I will.”
Her fine brows pinch, and she fiddles with the zipper on her vest. “And if I don’t want to see you?”
My heart pauses in its beating, the thought of her not wanting to see me apparently causing cardiac distress. I cup her chin, and it feels completely natural for my thumb to brush the fullness of her lower lip. To trace the deep, wide bow of her mouth. Her breath fans across my palm and my fingers literally tingle.
“Then tell me to stop.”