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I drop my voice and mimic his tone. “A geek is cooler.”
His jaw clenches and—if possible—the red flushing his cheeks deepens. “I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re feeling better, since you obviously are.”
He makes to stand, but I reach out and grab his arm before he can stalk away. “I’m sorry. Seriously. I will stop teasing you.” He squints like he doesn’t believe me, so I hold out my hands again in a sign of innocence. “But dude, you are about the coolest person I’ve met. So you’ll have to excuse me if that whole I’m-not-as-cool-as-a-geek argument took me by surprise.”
He slowly sits back down, frowning and still looking flustered. He looks like he wants to dig for more information, but doesn’t want to outright ask, opening his mouth and then snapping it shut again.
I take pity on him. “You are obviously rich and insanely good looking.” He makes a scoffing noise at that last bit. I pick up my soup and poke at it absentmindedly so he won’t notice how awkward I feel admitting I find him attractive. He isn’t traditionally handsome, with his nose that is a little too big, but somehow balanced out by his soulful eyes and wide, full lips. And don’t even get me started on his body. He’s not like some jacked Instagram model, but he’s unexpectedly fit and strong in a way that makes me feel safe. “And unless I’m mistaken, ridiculously smart as well.”
He clears his throat. “I don’t know about—”
“Were you or were you not talking on the phone just now about how to solve climate change?”
I pin him with a look.
He blushes again. “Well, climate change isn’t something any one person is going to solve.”
“But that is what you’re working on?”
“I’m just trying to figure out which scientists have the best shot at solving it and making sure they have the funding to do so.”
“Again, because you’re rich and smart.” He shrugs, still looking embarrassed. “So, to recap: You’re rich, smart, and working on saving the world. Basically, you’re a superhero. It doesn’t get any cooler than that.”
He says nothing in response, just does that thing with his jaw, working the muscles like he wants to say something and doesn’t have the words. Somehow—I don’t know how I know, but I know—somehow, I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking about that ex of his. Ava, the movie star. The woman who broke his heart and bad mouthed him all over late night. The woman he maybe bought this house for, before she broke up with him.
Somehow I know he’s thinking that if he had been cooler, she wouldn’t have left him.
Imagining those thoughts in his head … it breaks my heart a little. And makes me want to stab her.
I don’t think of myself as prone to violence, but I better never meet that bitch alone in a dark alley, because I have a butcher knife and an industrial food processor. I could make her disappear.
Instead of threatening violence to a woman he is clearly still in love with, I try to think of something I can say that might give him some comfort. Some scrap of peace.
I want to tell him she’s not worth it. That if she couldn’t see how amazing he is, then she didn’t deserve him. I want to grab him by the shoulders, give him a hard shake, and tell him to get the fuck over her. To tell him that there are other fish in the sea. Hell, there are other fish right here on his sofa.
Thank God, I come to my senses before I can say any of that garbage out loud.
Because Ian is a genuinely (if somewhat unexpectedly) good guy. For all the reasons I just listed and more.
And he doesn’t need to know his personal chef is nursing a crush on him. Maybe more than a crush.
So, instead, I burrow a little deeper into the covers and say the only thing I can think of to make light of the situation. “See, now I just want to rewatch the Avengers.”
He slants me a confused look. “What? Why?”
“Come on! You’re basically Tony Stark. But without the Iron Man suit.”
He blinks as if surprised by the comparison. Then chuckles and plays along. “No one has an Iron Man suit, because that technology doesn’t exist.”
“Whatever. I’m sure you could invent it if you weren’t so focused on fixing climate change, you selfish bastard.” I kick him again playfully. “Now cue up some Marvel for me.”
I half expect him to start up a movie and leave me to it, but instead, he settles in and watches with me. At some point, he makes popcorn and brings me more tea. I stretch out my legs and my feet end up in his lap. He doesn’t complain when I insist we skip Civil War, because it’s too depressing. I drift off during Infinity War and when I wake up, I’m back in his bed, tucked in with my cat asleep at my feet.
Chapter Fifteen
Ian
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