Great Big Beautiful Life(42)

Something in me snaps. I whirl back around on him. “Are you trying to embarrass me, Hayden?”

Shock splashes across his face. “What?”

I stalk toward him. “It wasn’t enough for you to kiss me—and let’s be clear here, you kissed me—shut me down, and insult my ability. You had to show up here tonight, to what? Ruin my date? Or—did you not even believe I had a date? Well, guess what! You win! I don’t! He’s not coming after all! He, like you, changed his mind at the last second. I guess I have that effect on a certain kind of man. So if you’re done chasing me down the street to get a good look at my humiliation, I’d love to go home right now and pretend this night—this whole last week—never happened.”

I spin toward my car.

He grabs my arm.

My gaze snaps from his loose grip up to his face, hovering over me and torqued in frustration.

I wait for him to say something, or to let go. One second. Two. Three. It’s like we’re both frozen there.

“I thought you invited me,” he blurts.

“What?”

He huffs, eyes dropping to our feet before rebounding to my face. “I thought you were kidding. About the date.”

I stare at him, utterly shocked.

“Not because I don’t believe you could get a date,” he goes on gruffly. “Just because we’ve only been here a week and a half, and almost everyone who lives on this island is a retiree.”

I’m still staring, blinking at him, mouth open, like a goldfish who accidentally plopped out of her fish tank.

“So I thought when you said…” He grimaces. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about here, Alice. I know I’m the one who kissed you. I know I’m the one who shut it down.”

I still haven’t regained control of my voice. Or my limbs. His hand softens on my elbow, and I do everything I can not to lean into the touch, to find comfort there.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he says, shaking his head.

I finally manage a small “Okay.”

Once more, his dark gaze sweeps toward the gap between our feet. “She asked for me.”

Our eyes connect. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t track Margaret Ives down,” he says. “You’re the only one who found her.”

I sway slightly on the spot.

“She found me,” he says. “She reached out to my agent. I guess she read Our Friend Len, and she asked if I’d be open to doing some meetings to see whether I’d be a good fit to write her biography.”

My legs wobble. Hayden’s grip on me tightens slightly as I lean back, slowing my fall as I slump against the side of my car. He steps in close, balancing me for a second before his hands uncertainly release me.

“So she’s already chosen,” I half whisper.

“No,” he says quietly, but when I meet his eyes, he looks down. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Now I’m the one to study our feet, both of mine in between both of his. “You could’ve told me sooner.”

He sighs. “I felt bad. You did all the work of finding her, and then I just showed up.”

“Why did she even have me come down here?” I ask, shaking my head. Tears well in my eyes. A snort of laughter escapes me when I realize. “Long day,” I say, wiping at the damp spots in my tear trough.

With a frown, Hayden touches the side of my face, a gentle slide of his palm and then a sweep of his thumb over the top of my cheek, collecting the moisture. “You wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t still open to working with you.”

“Yeah,” I say half-heartedly. He’s right though. He has to be. There has to be a reason I’m here. “Or maybe it’s all some kind of game to her. Maybe she’s just using me to try and get your best work or something.”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I started with an advantage. It didn’t feel right, kissing you, when you didn’t know the full story.”

I look up into his eyes. “That’s why?”

His hand curves softly around my ear. “That’s why.”

Delicate warmth unfurls through my belly. “No girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend,” he says. “And your date?”

“Real,” I say. “But not a boyfriend.”

I straighten away from the car, the movement pressing me against him. “This still wouldn’t work, Alice.” His voice rumbles through my stomach and my hip, where his free hand has settled.

“What wouldn’t?” I ask.

His eyes track the rise and fall of my breath. “We’re still competing for the same job.”

“So I’m competition again?” I tease.

His hand flexes at my waist, and I’m pulled snug against him, where I can feel every hard line of him. “You were always competition.”

“I’m going to kiss you, Hayden,” I say, almost a warning.

But I don’t get the chance. His mouth is already on mine, one of his hands snaking into my hair, his other sliding down my backside as I arch hungrily into him. I’m pinned against the car, gasping into his mouth, my thigh lifted up along his hip on this abandoned street. His long fingers curl into my skin. His hand slides higher, pushing my skirt up along my thigh, moving closer and closer to where I want him. He brushes along the damp lace of my underwear and swears against the side of my throat. “You never wear pants,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing down me. “It makes it hard to think.”