Feels So Right

“Seven o’clock?”

“I’m not coming.”

“Think about it.”

She rolled her eyes. When he got like this, he wouldn’t let go. Probably because he sensed her hesitation, sensed her slight weakness. Seth knew her way, way too well, and having grown up extremely wealthy, he was used to getting what he wanted. Though his parents had skimped on the things that really mattered, like love and attention. “I won’t change my mind.”

She saw the triumph in his eyes. He thought he had her.

If he was talking about the chocolate hazelnut cheesecake, he might be right as far as her appetite went. The rest of her? He couldn’t have that. She was keeping that safe. Safe for a new man and for herself.

TEARS RAN DOWN Demi’s cheeks, which she bravely ignored. She and Wesley were sitting at her kitchen table shoveling in mouthfuls of the incendiary Noodles from Hell from their favorite Thai restaurant. They both adored and suffered through the dish, though they considered it a badge of honor not to wince or admit to the chili-induced agony. Demi had bought Wesley his drink at Joe Bar, and they’d come back here for dinner and dessert, in the mood for some edible torture.

“So tell me something.” Demi cheated just a little by pushing aside a particularly large chunk of red bird’s-eye chili pepper. Big difference between brave and suicidal. “Why is it that men are considered strong if they don’t show emotion? Who decided that was masculine?”

“Hmm.” Wesley stifled a gasp and poured half a beer down his throat. “If I had to answer that …”

“Which you do because I asked.”

“I’d say because children have no control over emotions and women have less control than men. Women and children are weak and need protecting—” He held up his hand to stop Demi’s outrage. “Calm down, I’m speaking biologically.”

“Okay …” She grudgingly let him continue.

“So in order to be least like women and children—in other words, the most masculine—men have to be strong and emotionless.”

“Doesn’t that seem stupid to you?”

“Extremely.” He ate another mouthful, chewing cautiously. “If it was up to me, we’d change it. But for some reason it isn’t.”

Demi frowned at him, thinking he looked better and stronger every time she saw him. “We need to put you in charge, Wesley. Of the globe. Would you mind?”

His blue eyes went wide. “Could I still have ice cream?”

“Absolutely.” She took a sip of beer and pushed her plate away, tired of her dinner giving her first-degree burns. “How did you escape the Culture of Macho?”

“I wouldn’t say I escaped.” He rubbed a hand thoughtfully through his thick, dark hair. “Though I did cry during one of our appointments.”

“I remember.” She reached to squeeze his hand. “Nearly broke my heart.”

“Softie.”

“Me? I’m hard as nails. But we were talking about you.”

“As we should be.” He smiled his easy, dynamite smile. “I had three sisters, for one. And my dad was emotional. He was also crazy about my mom and we got to see that. He cried when he was really sad, and acted as if that was completely normal.”

“Which it is.”

“He helped around the house in nontraditional ways, too.”

“My dad didn’t do squat. My sister-in-law is finding out what that’s like, too, since my brother takes after him.” She gestured to Wesley with her beer. “Your wife will be one lucky woman.”

“So will your husband.” He laughed at the sight of her startled face. “Scared you, huh.”

“Husband? Husband?” She clutched at her chest. “I’m too young. Husbands are for grown-ups.”

“In some cultures twenty-eight would make you a hopeless spinster.”

“I’d make a good one.”

“No, you wouldn’t, Demi.” His dark-lashed eyes took on a warmth that made her blush. “Too much passion in you to waste on sexual aids.”

“Oh, geez.” She made a hideous face, hiding giggles.

“So …” He spoke so casually she went on instant alert. “Demi …”

“Wesley …?”

“What brought up all this talk about the Culture of Macho and marriage?” He put a long finger to his cheek and tipped his head. “Could it have anything to do with yesterday’s visit by Colin ‘Ironman’ Russo?”

“Of course it does. Well, no, not the marriage part.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “But the guy can barely move. I worked really deeply on him and he does this whole stoic statue thing. It just seems stupid he couldn’t yell, ‘Ow, that effing hurts!’”

Wesley looked at her skeptically. “Would you do that in a professional office?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “That’s partly my point, too. It’s ridiculous for anyone to hide normal feelings of pain.”

“Your studio would get kind of noisy.”

“At times.” She twisted her mouth, pushing her unused knife back and forth on the tablecloth. “Truth is, I’m not sure what to do about him.”

“Jump him?”

She wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. “He’s not only hurting in his body.”

“I’m not surprised.” Wesley drained his beer, his handsome face shadowed. “Tough journey out of that pain.”

“He wasn’t hurt nearly as badly as you were, but like you his athletic career meant everything to him.”

“He just thinks it does.”

“Yes, he just thinks it does. That’s my point. You found coaching. I’m not sure what he’ll do.” She swirled more pasta onto her fork, mouth craving another shot of pain. “I wonder if he should meet you and hear about—”

“Ha!” Wesley was already shaking his head. “Hear about my sad story? So you can say hey, guess what? Instead of being a world champion triathlete, you could be a suburban high-school track coach. He’s not ready for that.”

“He might be.”

Wesley gave her a look.

“At some point he might be,” Demi said.