Sunset In Central Park (From Manhattan with Love 2)
She felt as if her insides were slowly melting. “I’m not good at it.”
“It’s dating. The only requirement is to spend time with someone. How can you not be good at it?”
The fact that he’d even ask her that question revealed the massive gulf in their life experience and expectations, as well as how little he knew about her dating history. And how little he seemed to understand her hang-ups, despite the whole glasses incident. And why would he? Matt was confident and self-assured. Dating was unlikely to be something that made him consider therapy.
“It’s the pressure.” She tried to explain. “Will you like them and will they like you. Do you have to be more this or less that. Dating a stranger is pretty fake, isn’t it? People project an image. You see what they want you to see and they often hide who they really are. It’s like going out with a mask on. I don’t have the energy for it.” It was an under-Statement. She found it monumentally stressful, which was why she’d cut it out of her life.
“How about going out and being yourself? Does that ever happen?”
“That doesn’t usually work.”
“How can being yourself not work?”
She was acutely conscious of the people working around them and wondered how the conversation had blended so seamlessly from talk of buds and blooms to her own phobias.
And it wasn’t just the conversation that unsettled her. It was the way he focused on her, with that lazy, sexy gaze, as if she was the only person on the roof. In New York City. In th
e world.
She’d always felt safe with Matt, but right now she didn’t feel safe. She was trying to stay in her comfort zone and he seemed determined to nudge her out of it. Which wasn’t like him.
She was filled with a whole bunch of feelings she didn’t recognize and had no idea what to do with.
“I don’t expect you to understand. When you’re with a woman it’s probably very simple.”
He lifted his hand and pushed her hair back from her face. She felt the rough pads of his fingertips brush gently against her skin and started to tremble.
“When I’m with a woman,” he said softly, “I want her to be herself. If someone isn’t interested in who you really are, or in showing you who they really are, you’re probably wasting your time dating them.”
He let his hand drop but the trembling didn’t stop. It was as if he’d hit a trigger point. She saw his face through a blur of sunlight and the feverish patterns created by her own brain.
When I’m with a woman …
All she could think was lucky woman.
The atmosphere was electric and she felt that strange rush of awareness brush across her skin. Her heart was pounding so hard she expected the entire crew to pick up the rhythm.
“Are you seeing someone at the moment?” Why, oh why had she asked him that question? She didn’t want to know. She truly didn’t want to know. She rubbed her hands over her arms, wondering how she could have goose bumps when it was so hot.
“I’m not seeing anyone.”
“There’s no one who interests you?”
“There is someone who interests me a great deal.”
“Oh.” Frankie felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “Well, that’s—exciting.”
Not in a million years would she have expected his announcement to bother her as much as it did. Misery descended like a thick winter mist, smothering her good mood.
She wished she hadn’t asked but at the same time she was glad she had because at least it would stop her thinking dreamy thoughts and having anxious moments worrying that their relationship might be changing.
That comment about her having beautiful eyes had been just that—a comment.
For some men dating was virtually a hobby, but Matt was different.
Matt, she knew, wasn’t the sort of man to sleep his way through the female population just because he could. Nor was he the sort of man who needed a woman on his arm to inflate his ego. If he was interested in someone then she must be special.
Her ribs ached with the acid burn of jealousy.