“No,” she answered honestly, and he was dumbstruck again. Of course she didn’t know. He hid so much shit from her that she’d be appalled if she ever found out who he really was.
Well, fuck. “Something . . . something just came up,” he said lamely.
This time she looked at him. “Just stop it, Rob, okay?”
“All right. I’m fucking lying. Nothing came up. I just freaked out tonight, but it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me, all right? I’m a selfish fucker and I shouldn’t have blown you off. I didn’t want to, and I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth.” He grabbed her hand and pressed both of his around hers and held it against his chest. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. I know you don’t believe me, but I swear to God and Jesus and Buddha that it’s the truth. You’re the first person that has been genuinely happy to know me in fucking years, and you have no idea how good that feels and how scared I am of fucking that up.”
“How can I believe you?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Ask me for something,” he said quickly. “Tell me what to do to make it up to you, and I will.”
“The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night,” she told him. “Dewey’s my date, but—”
“Wait,” he said, a surge of jealousy roaring through him. “Who the fuck is Dewey?”
Her mouth curled in a reluctant smile. “He’s an eighty-year-old man I met playing shuffleboard. He’s lonely, so I introduced him to Agnes and Edna when we started spending time together.”
“Oh.” His heart slowed down a little. Just a little.
“But I want you to be my date instead,” she told him. “I’d love if you went to the rehearsal dinner with me.”
Ah, fuck. The moment he showed up, Logan Hawkings would lose his shit, and Rob’s presence would ruin things for everyone involved. “I . . . can’t.”
She tried to pull her hand from his grip, flinching backward.
“Marjorie,” he began.
“Let me go.” He could hear the tears in her voice.
“It’s not what you think—”
“I think you’re ashamed to be seen with me,” Marjorie told him, her voice thick. “That’s what I think. That it’s perfectly okay to date Big Bird when no one sees you with her, right? But the moment someone will, all bets are off.”
“That’s not it at all.”
“No?” She tried to yank her hand out of his again.
“No. I’m not ashamed of you at all. I don’t know why you would think that—”
“Because I’m six foot one, Rob. And because no one has even given me the time of day before I met you. So how am I supposed to think that twenty-four years of nothing is somehow magically changed after a week of your attention?”
“You’re also gorgeous as fuck and my dick gets hard every time I look at you,” he told her. “Don’t believe me? I’m hard for you right now because you’re so fucking beautiful.”
To his surprise, she reached down and grabbed his junk. She looked a little startled to see that he was, indeed, sporting wood. Then she quickly snatched her hand away again. “That could be anything. You could get hard for any woman you saw here.”
“That’s not true. I’ve seen lots of women here and you’re the only one I’m interested in. I haven’t dated anyone seriously in three years—maybe longer—because when they open their mouths, they no longer interest me. But you? You eat up my thoughts all day long. You make me wonder what you’re thinking even when you’re not around me. I’m fucking crazy about you, Marjorie.”
“Then go to the rehearsal dinner with me,” she said in a soft voice.
Fuck. He was cornered, wasn’t he? There was no escaping this trap. “Will nothing else make you happy?”
“No,” she said, and her voice was stubborn. “That’s what I want. I want us to go to the rehearsal dinner together.”
“Then I’ll go.” And put the final nail in his coffin. “For you. If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” she said, and a hesitant smile returned to her mouth. “Is it truly so terrible to go out with me, Rob?”
“It’s not terrible at all.” He pulled her against him, and this time she yielded, putting her arms around his neck so that her body pressed against his. “Like I said, I’m utterly fucking crazy for you, Marjorie. I haven’t felt this way about a woman, ever. It’s probably insane to be thinking about love and relationships after a week of spending time together, but the thought of you leaving me in a few days is like a knife in the gut. I don’t want you to go home to Kansas City. I don’t want you to go to New York. I want you to come to California with me. Come live with me and let us spend time together. I don’t want to be apart from you a single day.”
“Rob,” she said softly. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to answer it today. Or tomorrow. Just know that the offer stands. That the thought of you leaving me and returning to life without me makes me want to punch something with misery. You’re the only good, decent person in my life.”
“That’s not true,” she protested. “You’re a wonderful person.”
“I’m not,” he said bluntly. “I’m a dick and an asshole and I worry constantly that the moment you see who I really am, you’re going to regret ever knowing me.”