Page 58 of Negotiation Tactics
I let out a frustrated sound at the spectacular way in which I failed. I’m such an idiot, the biggest. What did I think back then? I’m not a player! I never stood a chance against that unfairly sexy bad boy asshole.
I try to analyze again how I messed up just like I’ve been doing over the past weeks, but I come up short because I can’t pinpoint where and why I started to think he was different from the rest. My running theory based on the method of elimination is that his dorkiness, pretty smiles and the mind-blowing sex managed to get undermy skin and convinced me there was good in him. The promises he made seemed so genuine too, so heartfelt, like his strive to make his company a better place so his dad would be proud.
Sighing, I tousle my hair to give it a more casual look. I guess I allowed all those things to overshadow the red flags.
With some effort, I stop myself from thinking about him any further. There’s no point because what is done is done. There was never really a ‘we’, at least not officially, and that’s a small blessing I’m glad for.
With thirty minutes to spare, I take the MAX to the pizza place in Beaverton where Peterson and I will be having dinner. He is smoking in front of the venue when I arrive.
“Hey, Josh,” he says, his blue eyes scanning me over. “You look amazing.”
His words strike a nerve, but I am not sure why. I cock an eyebrow, reciprocating the once-over. In his snug blue jeans, brown polo and sleeveless vest, he looks good, though it’s his blond mop of hair that catches my attention. It’s slicked to one side, revealing three piercings.
“You’re not half-bad yourself,” I shoot back with a flirty wink.
He laughs. “I would hope so.”
We enter the restaurant. The space is crawling with families and ringing with chatter and kids’ laughter. It’s a little crowded, but still cozy, the wooden paneling complementing the green and red tones of the furniture and floor.
As we are about to sit, Peterson drags out my chair for me.
“Oh, a gentleman?” I chuckle, challenging him with an overplayed arch of my eyebrow.
“Only in public,” he assures me, blue eyes drinking me in once again.
I should like it, because he is totally pulling off that contrast between prim and proper appearance and a wild personality that I find to be a massive turn on, but for some reason it’s not quite working. As the night goes on and we get our food, I can’t help but compare his mannerisms and way of speaking to Alistair’s, trying not to do it but ending up unable to help it.
“So, how long have you been the Union’s Head for?” he asks.
“A little over a couple of months,” I reply, taking a sip from my tonic and gin. His gaze follows the movement of my mouth, darkening a notch. “Lily mentioned you were doing a residency?”
“Yep. Got another two years left and I’ll officially be a surgeon,” he says with pride.
“You must be excited.” I watch his face morph into a genuine expression of joy as I absentmindedly doodle on a napkin. I’ve been doing it for the past ten minutes, but he still hasn’t noticed.
“Of course! It’s had its ups and downs, but it’s what I’ve always wanted to do and now I’m so close.”
I want to be happy for him, because I can tell there’s passion in him. Being a surgeon is truly what he wants to do. But I just can’t. No matter how hard I try, his enthusiasm just makes me bitter.
I wonder why that is as he blabbers on about long shifts and assisting with surgeries. Am I still annoyed over what Alistair said when I had a go at him after the commission’s rejection? All the more reason then why I should stop reminding myself of him and focus on Peterson who most definitely doesn’t have daddy issues.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still mulling over Alistair. I hate that I’m allowing that asshole to get in the way of my amazing date with an amazing man, but I’ve learned that once the floodgates open, it’s kind of hard to shut them closed until the onslaught of thoughts has run its course.
“…are doing okay down south, though I don’t get to see them often,” Peterson informs me when I tune back in. “How about you?”
It takes me a few moments of awkwardly staring at him to piece together that he was talking about his parents. Or his siblings? Does he even have any? “My dad passed away when I was in high school, so it’s just been me, mom and my two brothers since then. She never remarried.”
He grips my hand softly. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
I offer a small smile and focus on his touch. His hand is… nice. His hold is firm, but not overly. In fact, it’s a little on the loose side. I don’t… mind it, but I also don’t feel anything in particular, no electricity running down my spine and no guts clenching in anticipation. It’s so different from whenever Alistair touched me, whether it was on purpose or an accidental caress. It lacks something, that buzz, that punch to the stomach that got my nerves all knotted up.
Why? Why can’t I stop thinking about Alistair after all he did? Why do I miss his hungry gaze on me, his impish smiles, his big hands?
It’s unfair.
“Shall we get dessert?” Peterson suggests as he lets go of my hand and flicks open the menu.
There’s a picture of a mini chocolate fountain and, of course, my eyes zero in on it like I’m a kid in front of a toy store. The ten feet one at Alistair’s party pops in my mind together with a lizard with a name fit for a royaltyand a dimly lit room with a massive bathroom and the most comfortable bed in the world. Silk engulfs my naked body as strong hands roam up my legs and spread them, as they knead my thighs while sapphire eyes bore into me and ignite unstoppable desire that I’d not known before Alistair Devon entered my life.
