croissants (butter, chocolate, and strawberry), eggs Benedict, and
all manner of breads and cheeses.
"Are you a tea person or a coffee person?" he asked, holding up two silver thermoses.
"Coffee, definitely," I said, pulling my knees up under my chin.
"All Americans are," he joked, pouring some into an actual ceramic mug. I noticed that he also had somehow managed to transport a glass carafe of grapefruit juice without breaking it. As picnics went, this was pretty gourmet. Back in Croton the word "picnic" conjured images of soggy PB&Js and Minute Maid fruit punch juice boxes.
"Okay. I'll admit I'm impressed," I teased, tying back my hair in a ponytail. A few clouds had rolled in off the island side, encroaching on the sun. I hugged my sweatshirt closer to me, wondering if Upton felt the same way as Kiran did about Old Navy. I took a sip of my coffee and resolved not to care.
"Thank you," Upton said, settling in next to me with his tea. His thigh grazed mine and, even through my jeans, I felt the heat. Damn. Being near this guy was definitely dangerous. "I'm glad Noelle brought you here," he said.
"Why? Need some new meat?" I blurted.
"What does that mean?" he asked, pulling back slightly.
"Nothing. Sorry," I said, taking another sip of my coffee. "It's just... I like you."
Didn't get much more transparent than that.
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Upton grinned. "I like you, too."
"But you're a player," I said, my heart slamming against my breastbone.
His brow knit as he considered this. "I don't have to be."
I laughed. "Yes, you do. People don't change."
"That is such a load of bollocks. People change all the time," he protested, setting down his tea and turning toward me. "Look at Madonna. She loves the U.S., then she loves England, then she loves the U.S. again. Or politicians. They flip-flop all the time. And look at Brad Pitt. You cannot tell me that man was not a player before he met Angelina."
I laughed loudly and raised my hands. "Okay, okay! You made your point."
"Good," Upton said, settling in again. He reached for the platter of fruit and popped a grape in his mouth. "I thought I was going to have to whip out my BlackBerry and start searching Wikipedia for more examples. The point is, right here, right now, I want to be with you. No one else. Okay?"
I took a deep breath and audibly let it out. "Okay." I couldn't help but smile. He'd had me at "load of bollocks." I tore off the end of a croissant and nibbled on it. It was clearly time to move on from the player conversation.
"So what's your deal, Upton Giles?" I asked. "Where're you from? What do you do? What do you like? "
"My deal?" he said with a laugh. He propped his hands behind him and gazed out at the ocean. "Well, let's see, I grew up in Essex,
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where my family owns quite a bit of land. My grandfather did well with some technology investments and used his earnings to snatch up every foreclosed estate he could get his hands on, so we're new money pretending to be old." He lowered his voice as if sharing a dark family secret. "So because of this grand charade, I am supposed to make something of myself, which basically means that when I was five I knew I was going to have to graduate from Oxford and become a medic or a lawyer or a businessman of some kind. Whatever would get me quoted in the London Times at least once a month, which is how my father measures a person's success."
I laughed, pushing away a stray lock of hair from my face. "Sounds like a lot of pressure."
Upton grabbed a plain croissant and covered it with some sort of greenish-white cheese. "You'd think it would be, but you're missing one important detail."
"What's that?" I said.
"Expectations mean bugger all to me," he said with a grin.
I smiled and took a sip of my coffee. "What's Oxford like?"
"Why? Thinking of matriculating?" he asked, leaning on his side now. He gave me a leading look that made me shiver "We'd love to have you," he said in a jokingly husky voice.