“You’re fidgety,” Alan said, passing her the breadbasket that the waiter just delivered. “Is anything wrong?”

She shook her head as she looked around the well-appointed interior of The Roaring Fork, an upscale restaurant in the Stephen F. Austin Intercontinental Hotel. “When you called this morning to suggest dinner, I was expecting a burger. Maybe Tex-Mex. I’m a mess.” Her suit was fine, but she’d gone to the gym at five, and then had hurried to meet Alan at the Starbucks on Sixth and Congress without fixing her make-up and with her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

“You look beautiful,” he said. “And I thought we should celebrate.”

“Oh? What are we celebrating?” Her eyes widened. “Did the dean talk to you about tenure?”

He laughed. “Not yet. No, it’s been four months since your mother introduced us.”

“Oh.” She sat back. “Has it really?” Strange that it didn’t seem that long. They were close in so many ways, and yet there was a formality between them that felt a little bit like they were living in a Jane Austen novel. She’d known Nolan much less time, and yet with him she felt like—well, like herself.

A waiter arrived with a dozen oysters on the half-shell and a bottle of champagne. She watched him pop the cork, then pour, and all the while prickly fingers of dread crept up the back of her neck.

“Alan…” She trailed off, not sure what to say. Hell, not sure what he intended to say.

“I wanted this to be special,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket.

“Alan, wait. We—”

He held up a hand to silence her. “Please. This isn’t what you think.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief, but then tensed again when he put a ring box in front of her. She looked up, meeting his eyes, completely confused.

“It’s not an engagement ring. I know you—we’re—not ready for that.”

Oh, God.

“But please, open it.”

She couldn’t force her hands to move. “Shouldn’t we talk—”

He picked up the box, then flipped the lid open, revealing a simple silver band with small diamonds around an ornate heart. “It’s a promise ring,” he said, looking so pleased with himself it broke her heart. “I texted a picture to your mother. She said she was certain the style would suit you.”

“It’s very pretty,” she agreed, “but—”

“I want this to represent our promise to each other to move forward with this relationship. We’ve never talked about being exclusive before, but I want that, Shelby. I want only you.”

He took the ring out of the box and held it out to her. Time slowed, and when she saw his forehead crease, she realized she was slowly shaking her head and holding her hands tight in her lap.

“Shelby?”

“Alan.” She had to take a sip of water and swallow in order to continue. “Alan, I’m so sorry. I—I can’t accept this.”

He blinked, then sat back, the ring still in his hand. “I see. Is it too soon?”

“Yes, I mean, no.” She sucked in a breath. “I mean I’ve met someone else and … oh, God, Alan, I wanted to talk to you about this tonight. I never dreamed it would be like this, though.”

“So you don’t want to be exclusive,” he said. “That’s fair. It’s only been a few months, and I’d never want you to commit without being certain, and if process of elimination—”

“Alan, no.” She reached out and closed her hand over his. “You’re a great guy—you really are. And before I thought—” She cut herself off with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I don’t know if this guy will end up being the one for me. But I do know that seeing him has made me think more about myself and what I want. And what I don’t want.”

“Me,” he said.

“I’m sorry.” Her instinct was to say more. To ramble and try to smooth. To try to make it all better. But that wasn’t in her power, especially not since she was the one doing the hurting. And so she simply shut up and let him deal with the reality she’d thrust upon him.

He took a sip of water, then rearranged the salt and pepper shakers. “I’m sorry, too,” he finally said. “But maybe it’s good I made this misstep. Who knows how long we would have gone on pretending?”

She winced a little, because he was right. She’d intended to tell him tonight—but in all honesty, they should have had this talk days ago.

“Do you still want dinner?”

She hesitated, her glass of water almost to her lips. “Seriously?”

A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Be kind of hypocritical if I stopped liking you now, wouldn’t it?”

She laughed, then shook her head. “You really are a good man, Alan Lowe. And someday, some woman is going to be very lucky to have you.”

---

Nolan left The Fix with a spring in his step. The first Man of the Month contest had been a huge success, and not just because Jenna and her team had managed to cajole a dozen local guys into entering. And not because there’d been a line down the block to get in.

Not even because the women in the audience went absolutely apeshit when the guys strutted their stuff across the stage.

No, as far as Nolan was concerned, Reece Walker had made the whole fucking evening because he’d stood on that stage and confessed his love to Jenna Montgomery.

Nolan had listened to the words, but his eyes had been on Jenna, and the expression on her face had mesmerized him. The soft sweet glow of joy that had seemed to light up the entire bar.

He wanted a woman to look at him like that.

No. Not a woman. He wanted Shelby.

She’d snuck up on him, that was for damn sure, but there was no question in his mind or his heart that he wanted her. And, please God, he was pretty damn sure that she wanted him, too, and for more than a casual fuck, no matter how fabulous those fucks might be.

He was walking west on Sixth Street, and he paused at Congress and waited for the light to change. He needed to turn left to get to his condo, but something caddy corner to him, right in front of the Starbucks, caught his eye.

Shelby.

And she was with a man in sport coat and close-cropped hair. Someone from her office, maybe?

He started to call to her, but then she lifted up onto her toes, put her hand on his shoulder, and kissed him.

What the fuck?

What the bloody, goddamn fuck?

She waved, then continued down the street, presumably returning to the Frost Building, to get her car and go home.

He told himself he should drop it. He had a show to do in the morning. But it wasn’t that late and he knew damn well that he wouldn’t sleep until he saw her. So, screw it. He was going to be that guy.

He pulled out his phone, tapped his favorite ride share app, and snagged a car. Since she lived barely over a mile away, he was at her house and on her front porch even before she got home. Assuming she was coming home.

Maybe she was going to his house. Whoever he was.

He threaded his fingers together behind his neck and tilted his head back to look at the stars. He had it bad. He hadn’t seen it coming, but damned if he didn’t have it bad.

This woman had the power to break his heart—and that scared him to death.

He was pacing—rehearsing—ten minutes later when her car pulled into the drive. She killed the engine, got out, and walked toward her door with her head down as she rummaged in her purse for her keys.

He gaped at her, wishing that keyless cars had never been invented, because then she’d have her keys in her hand right now. Because what if he was an attacker? Did she have absolutely no sense of personal security? He was going to have to have a long talk with her. Maybe have Brent install some motion sensitive lights and a push button lock on her front door. He wanted her safe, after all, and—

“Nolan?” She smiled at him, wide and bright, as if she hadn’t completely knocked his world off kilter not fifteen minutes ago by making out with some asswipe. “What are you doing here?”

“You fucking kissed him,” he blurted. Which really wasn’t what he rehearsed, and he knew damn well that it wasn’t the best approach under the circumstances.

As if the universe wanted to prove him right, he saw her posture shift as her spine straightened and her chin lifted. “You were spying on me?”

“I was walking down Congress. And imagine my surprise when I find you sucking face with some dude. I mean, Christ, Shelby, we’re dating.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Well, we’re damn sure seeing a lot of each other, especially when you factor in how often we’re naked. And whoopsie, but my penis just seems to keep landing in your vagina. So I figure we’re either dating or one of us is pretty damn clumsy.”

She twisted, looking back and forth at the neighboring houses. “What is wrong with you?”

“Guess I’m just the class clown. You planning on dumping me for the valedictorian?”

For a moment, she looked like she was about to really let him have it. But all she did was stand perfectly still, probably counting to ten. Finally, she jammed her key into the door, then held it open and gestured roughly. “In,” she ordered. “We are not doing this in front of the neighbors.”

Doing this. The words sat like lead in his stomach. Doing what? Breaking up? Shit, fuck, cocksucker, motherfucker, cunt, tits, piss.

He drew in a breath, nodded calmly, and walked over the threshold.

She followed, then slammed the door behind her. “Let’s get a few things straight,” she said, coming over and poking him in the chest with her index finger. “First, I am not your ice princess bitch of an ex-wife. Got it?”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. Just barreled on. “Second, that dude was Alan.” The name struck him like a kick in the gut.

“Fuck.” He almost choked on the word. “So, what does that mean?” Did she want to break up? Because no matter what she said, they were damn sure dating. To hell with that. He wasn’t going without a fight.

Or, rather, a bigger fight than this one.

“Third,” she continued, completely ignoring his question. “You’re an idiot.”

“Because I fell for you? Yeah, maybe I am.”

“You’re an idiot because it was a good-bye kiss. A very chaste good-bye kiss that seemed appropriate since I’d just broken up with him.”

“You—” He tried to continue the sentence, but his thoughts were too muddled.

She crossed her arms over her chest, tilted her head, and waited.

“You broke up with him?”

“I figured I had to. I can hardly keep going out with him when I feel this way about you. But he’s a sweet man who never did anything wrong except not be you. So don’t you dare give me shit.”

“Ah,” he said, shoving his hand into the pockets of his jeans. “And how exactly do you feel about me?”

She flashed a crooked smile then stepped closer until she could wrap her arms around him. “Like you’re the kind of guy my vagina keeps sneaking up on.”

He couldn’t help it; he barked out a laugh.

“You’re not too bright though, are you? I mean, falling for an idiot like me.”

“No,” she agreed. “Not very bright at all.” She brushed a kiss over his lips. “You want to keep fighting or would you like some coffee?”

“Got any Scotch?”

She laughed. “Yeah, I think I can hook you up. Hang on.”

As she went to the kitchen to get the drink, he settled in on the couch. And the first thing he noticed was that there was a new book on the coffee table—Watchmen

“You’re reading this?” he asked when she brought him the drink.

“Barely started,” she said. “I called and got the folks at Dragon’s Lair to put aside a copy for me,” she added, referring to his favorite store for gaming and graphic novels. “You said it was good,” she added, as if daring him to contradict her.

“It is,” he said, feeling ridiculously, stupidly flattered that she’d shelved some thick classic tome in favor of his favorite graphic novel.

“In that case, I have an idea for the rest of the evening. Wanna snuggle on the couch, read Watchmen together, and later on we can see if any of our body parts tumble into each other?”

“Yeah,” he said, hooking one arm around her shoulder as he reached for the book. “I think that sounds like a stellar idea.”