Blood Noir - Laurell K. Hamilton [25]
“So you did smoke.”
“I tried cigarettes, not the same thing as smoking.”
“So you weren’t completely pure when Jean-Claude met you?”
I frowned at him. “I’d tried cigarettes, Jason; that didn’t really prepare me for Jean-Claude.”
Jason was suddenly solemn again. “No, I guess it didn’t. It’s hard for me to believe that you’d only had sex with one other guy before Jean-Claude.”
“Why?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know the answer.
“I told you, I slept with just about anyone who would have me. I can’t imagine turning down all the guys who must have asked.”
“Trust me, Jason, there weren’t that many.”
He looked at me like I was joking. “Come on, Anita, I have eyes. You are sooo hot.”
I squirmed in my seat, which ground the gun into my back, which made me cranky, and the conversation had already made me cranky.
“I won’t debate that with you. You know that sometimes I can see it, and sometimes I can’t. There were guys attracted to the packaging, but they didn’t want what was inside.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“I had at least three guys in college say something along the lines of, If only your inside matched your outside. Or one of my favorite first dates, who told me I was perfect until I opened my mouth.”
Jason stared at me. “I know you’re serious, but damn, how stupid were these guys?”
I smiled and patted his hand on the seat. “That’s sweet, but I’ve always spoken my mind. I’ve always been independent. That is not the trait that draws men to pretty, petite, delicate-looking women. They want to protect and coddle, and do stupid shit like that.”
“You intimidated them,” he said.
I nodded. “I know that now.”
“I like strong women,” he said.
I smiled at him. “I’ve noticed.”
He flashed me the real version of the smile that parted women from their money at the club. If they thought the fake version was something, they should have had the full weight of the real deal. It was enough to turn a girl’s head. Or make them blush, damn it.
“You’re blushing,” he damn near chortled. He bounced in the seat. “I love that you do that.”
I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t.”
His hands on my wrists were the first clue I had that he was so close beside me again. I let him draw my hands away so he could look into my eyes.
“I love that I’m one of the men you react to, Anita. I was like invisible to you. I mean, I’m not in Jean-Claude’s league, but there are women who would do a lot to be with me, and have,” he said, with a look to the side that tried for humble and almost made it.
“I’ve seen the fans at the club, and the women going in and out of the Circus.”
He took my hands in both of his and rested his chin on our joined hands. He wasn’t exactly looking at me. More at the memory in his head.
“But you never saw me like that. I was a responsibility first. Someone else you felt you needed to keep safe, and then I was your friend.” He looked at me with that mischievous grin. “You’d seen me buck naked and you didn’t react to my body. That was a real ego bruiser, let me tell you.”
I blushed again and looked away from his face. “You were my friend, Jason, you don’t look at friends that way.”
“You don’t, but I did. I thought I wasn’t up to your standards.”
“The homes are really nice here,” I said. They were. The more narrow road was surrounded by lovely, older, expensive homes.
“You’re changing the subject,” Jason said.
“Trying to, yes.”
“I don’t want to change the subject.”
I pulled at my hands. This conversation was too intimate for me. I’d forgotten one thing Jason did that made me the most uncomfortable. He had a penchant for in-depth soul-searching talks. When I needed one, it was great, if sometimes painful. But I could not spend the next two days being analyzed; it would drive me mad. I kept staring out at the beautiful houses nestled into their green yards and trees. It was still pretty, but no amount of pretty was going to make up for being analyzed for days.
He kissed my hands gently, then let me pull away. “You know that wasn’t it, Jason.”
“I know you were trying to hold on to what virtue you felt