Made to Be Broken (Nadia Stafford 2)

"I'm fine. Just embarrassed."

"Kind of like having your parents walk in on you when you were sixteen?"

I sputtered a laugh. "Exactly like that, now that you mention it."

We sipped our drinks in silence.

"Can I talk to you?" He jerked his chin toward the booths.

I nodded. He led me across the nearly empty lounge to the farthest booth and we slid in.

"About what happened upstairs. I was pushing hard," he said. "Again."

"No, I - "

"You said you needed time. I knew that. I just..." A crooked smile. "Thought maybe I could speed the decision-making process along. Talking is good, and I'm damned good at it, but in some cases words aren't really my best friend. I'm more of an... action guy."

I laughed. "And damned good at that"'

He laughed, but spots of color touched his cheeks, and as he nodded, his gaze dropped, as if that could hide his blush. Sitting there, looking at him, hands wrapped around his Coke, eyes downcast, that fascinating mix of confidence and uncertainty, I wanted to slide over and touch him. I wanted to kiss him and tell him that whatever he felt for me, I felt the same back.

"I think - " I began.

"No, let me guess," he said, eyes lifting to mine, that half-smile still playing on his lips. "You like me, but you think this isn't such a good idea. Not just here and now, which is a really bad idea, but in general. Maybe it could work, but it probably wouldn't, and you think we should just stay friends."

"Um, no. I was going to say 'I think we should go upstairs before Jack gets even more pissed off.' "

A sharp laugh. "Damn. I wasn't even close." He wiped condensation from his glass, hands still around it. "Still, maybe that isn't what you were going to say but..."

I took a deep breath. He tensed at the sound, bracing himself.

"The truth is that I have no idea what I want right now," I said. "Sadly, that's a damned good statement on my life in general these days. I know I'm making too big a deal out of this. We're single. We're adults. Go for it, have some fun, see what happens. But... It's been a while since I've had a relationship. Hell, since I've dated, if you want the full embarrassing confession. And, you know what? I'm okay with that. I've gotten used to it. I'm past - "

" - the point of looking for someone."

I nodded. "Which isn't to say - "

" - that you don't want to be with anyone, just that you're not so eager you'll jump at the first decent offer."

I laughed. "Keep that up and I'll think you can read minds."

"No, I'm just good at diagnosing a condition I've been living with myself." He pushed the glass away. "Have you ever been married?"

I shook my head. The one time I'd approached engagement, it had ended with Wayne Franco. My boyfriend had stuck by me during the fallout, but the moment I suggested maybe it would be better for him if we took a break, he fled like a lifer seeing a hole in the prison yard fence.

"Well, I was. College sweetheart, didn't work out, nothing ugly. It just... faded away. Old story. Anyway, it wasn't so bad that it soured me on women, just left me determined to find the right one. That was..." His eyes rolled up as he calculated. "Eight years ago. After two years of looking and not finding anyone, I slowed down. Then I had to deal with friends and family setting me up on dates. After two years of that, I said enough is enough. Between my friends and my job and my moonlighting, my life is full."

He stopped. Before I could say anything, he went on, "So, I guess what I'm saying is, I'm not waiting for you to make up your mind so I can move on to the next woman on my list. I want you. But if you aren't ready, I'm not going anywhere. If someone else comes along, for either of us..." He shrugged. "We'll deal with it. No hard feelings. No expectations."

What could I say to that? It was the perfect solution... and no solution at all.

The trip back

to Troy seemed to take triple what the clock said. I sat in the backseat and carried on some semblance of a conversation with Quinn in the passenger's seat.

We talked mainly about Montreal. How was his trip? Did he do any sightseeing? Had he been there before? Nothing related to his purpose for being there, just completely neutral conversation, but when I tried to include Jack by asking whether he'd ever visited, his sharp "no" told me I'd overstepped a boundary, and I withdrew into silence.

Jack was disappointed with me. I'd been unprofessional and, to him, there was no worse crime. If I was following Quinn down that road, then maybe I wasn't someone he should work with.