The Perfect Hope Part 87

He turned back, left it at that.

He thought about this. Thought long and hard, and he'd figured it out. But now, looking at her-pulsing, sparkling, a fancy gla.s.s of fancy wine in her hand, he wondered if he'd lost his mind.

Beauty queen, city girl. Sure, she was here, she was Hope, but those things were part of her. Like the scent, those smoldering eyes, the shoes that cost more than a decent table saw.

"I hate opera. I'm not listening to opera." He didn't know why he blurted that out. It just came to mind.

"Fine. I don't like opera either."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"You've got those opera things."

Over a sip of champagne, she gave him a puzzled frown. "What opera things?"

"Like the-the fancy binoculars?"

"The opera gla.s.ses." She laughed. "Guilty, but they're not just for opera. They're also useful for spying on s.e.xy construction workers on hot summer days when they strip off their shirts."

His lips quirked. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And for ballet, and-"

His lips flattened. "I'm not going to any ballet either."

"That's too bad for you."

"Or art films, foreign films, anything-anything with subt.i.tles."

She tilted her head. "And when have I ever suggested an art film?"

"Just putting it out there, in case. Or chick flicks." With a firm nod, he swiped a hand through the air. "They're off the table."

She tilted her head the other way, considered. "I like a good romantic comedy. I'd be willing to bargain a romantic comedy for two action movies."

"Maybe. If there's partial nudity."

G.o.d, he made her laugh. He made her tremble. She took a slow, deep breath. "I hate football."

His face crumbled into the lines of a man in serious, physical pain. "Oh, man."

"However, I have no objections to a man who enjoys spending a Sunday afternoon watching football on his enormous TV or at a stadium-as long as he doesn't paint his face like some crazy person."

"Have you ever seen my face painted?"

"Just putting it out there, in case," she echoed. "I wouldn't feel obliged to drag him to the ballet, which he wouldn't like, and he shouldn't feel obliged to drag me to a football game. I like basketball."

Intrigued, he walked back, picked up the gla.s.s of champagne he'd poured himself and hadn't thought he'd actually wanted. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I like the speed and the uniforms and the drama. I don't have any serious objections to baseball. I'd need to withhold judgment until I've seen a game at a stadium."

"Minor or major league?"

"I think I should sample both before coming to any conclusions, or any definitive policies thereon."

"Okay, fair. I don't want any more pillows on the bed than what you sleep on."

She shook her head, took a slow sip, wondering if it would calm her speeding heart. "No. Absolutely no on that. You just take them off the bed at night, put them back in the morning. It takes a couple of minutes and it adds style and warmth to the bedroom. On this issue, I'm immovable."

He sat on the bench, stretched out his legs. After some thought, he figured you picked your battles, and pillows weren't that high on the list. "I don't go shopping, tagging along to haul bags or getting asked if some dress makes your a.s.s look fat."

"Take my word as gospel on this point. You're the last person I'd want as a shopping buddy. And my a.s.s isn't going to look fat in any dress. Write that down, etch it in your memory."

"I got it."

She let out a quiet breath. No, the champagne hadn't slowed her speeding heart, but that was fine. She liked the rush. "What are we doing, Ryder?"

"You know what we're doing."

"I'd like it spelled out if you don't mind."

"Should've figured." He had to stand again, take a moment to walk to the rail again. "Right from the first minute. You come walking in, upstairs, and it was like being hit with a lightning bolt. I didn't like it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. I stayed away from you."

"At least," she murmured.

"I kept my distance. Then you wanted s.e.x."

"Oh, Ryder." She laughed, shook her head. "Well, that's true."

"So I gave you a break. It was just supposed to be s.e.x, right?"

"Right."

"It was okay to like each other. It's better if you do. And maybe to figure each other out some, all good. But the more I figured you out, the more it wasn't just s.e.x. I didn't much like that either."

"This has been very hard on you."

"See, that snooty tone? Why does that grab me like it does? You grab me, Hope, by the throat, by the gut, by the b.a.l.l.s, by the heart."

Her breath caught. How foolish. How wonderful. "You said heart."

"I kept thinking it's just the way you look, because the way you look, it drops a man to his knees. But that's just a nice add-on. Really nice, but it's not the way you look. It's the way you are. Everything kept sliding around, like it was trying to find its place. Then it clicked in, fit. Done. You. Naked in the gra.s.s at sunrise. That was it."