Romancing the Bachelor (A Hamilton Family 2)

“Yeah, and you know what?” he said immediately.

“What?” she asked slowly.

“It’s been years…hell, maybe my whole life, since I let myself laugh like that. Since I took a girl on a date, let down my guard, and just had a good time without an end goal in sight.” He stopped at a red light and looked at her. “With you, I’m different. I laugh and have fun. I’d forgotten what that felt like until we were in that elevator together, to be honest. All I’ve done is work and focus on my five-year plan. Hell, I even worked at my own brother’s wedding.”

It took all her control not to smile when he said she was different. Bad Shelby. Bad. “I think you’re overreacting a little. I’m sure you’re fun with other people, too.”

“Nope.” He dropped his forehead onto the wheel. “I’m a boring, stuck-up, stick-in-the-mud lawyer. You might as well put a fucking tweed suit on me now, stick me in my father’s club, and hand me a smoking pipe. I’m an old fart.”

She laughed again. He shot her a “Seriously?” look, and she held out a hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you’re easily the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, you’re amazing to watch in a courtroom, and you make me laugh all the time. You score women left and right, and never spend a weekend alone unless you want to. And you think you’re boring?”

The light turned green, and he stepped on the gas. “Yep.”

“Yeah. Okay.” She rolled her eyes. “Tell that to all the girls you bring home.”

“I can’t bring the one I want right now home with me,” he said softly. “Unless walking you to your door as your friend counts, anyway.”

She stared straight ahead, gripping her knee with her free hand, not sure what to say. Because little did he know, he could bring her home all too easily. And that was the problem.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who had forgotten how to have fun. She hadn’t brought a man home in years, choosing instead to lock herself away behind closed doors. She didn’t used to be so scared. Didn’t used to like being alone. At first, she’d kept to herself as a safety mechanism while she healed from the wounds George left behind. Those wounds had healed long ago, though, and she was still alone. All the time.

“Eric…”

“I know. Sorry.” He let out a small laugh, running his hand through his hair. “But, anyway, yeah. That’s my answer. For fun, I win cases at my job.” He glanced at her. “How about you? What do you do for fun?”

Nothing. I haven’t had fun in years. The question is, do I have the strength to change that? “I knit hats and destroy illusions that perfectly good men have about themselves.”

He laughed out loud. “Jesus. You’re not kidding.”

“Sorry,” she said, laughing too. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re fun.”

He pulled up to the curb. “I know you’re fun.”

“Eric—”

“Seriously, though, you made me see something I hadn’t seen before. I’m going to fix it. Time to find myself some hobbies.” He nodded. “Like painting with wine.”

“Right. Warning, though. I rock at painting.”

“I haven’t tried in years.” He frowned. “I used to be good.”

“I don’t think it’s a skill one loses.” She opened the car door, but didn’t get out. Judge Michaelson walked by, looked inside the car, and waved. They both waved back. It wasn’t until he walked away that she realized: “He totally thinks we’re banging now.”

Eric chuckled. “Who the hell says ‘banging’ anymore?”

“Me. I say it.” She gestured toward the retreating judge. “And he probably does, too. Along with groovy, and awesome, and—”

“Shelby.” He rested a hand on her thigh. “It doesn’t matter what people say or think. Even if we were fucking, I wouldn’t give a damn. There’s no rule against a court reporter and a lawyer dating, so we’d have nothing to hide. But we’re not. We’re just friends.”

She swallowed hard. He kept saying that. Was he reminding himself, or her? “I know. But they don’t know.”

“Who gives a shit?” He handed her the chai latte he’d gotten her. “You’re not back in a small town yet, Shel. Relax. No one cares what everyone else is doing here. They’re too busy living their own lives.”

Well…he had a point. She’d seen one of his lawyer colleagues getting head in the bathroom during a Christmas party, as had a few others, and no one ever talked about it. “Okay. You’re right.”

“Pick you up at six?” he asked, shooting her a look out of the corner of his eye.

She slid out of t