The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📗

my left side. “Why am I here? Let’s see … am I here to protect you from a crazy ex-girlfriend?” Basic, but I had to start somewhere. “You look like a man who would attract crazy.”

He looked at me sideways, his forehead wrinkling. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He shook his head, returning his gaze to the road. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

“Okay, fine. I guess that was a no. No crazy exes.” I brought my index finger to my chin. “Hmm … if it’s not protection you need”—I tapped my finger—“am I here to make someone jealous?”

“No,” he answered quickly.

“Are you sure?” I wiggled my eyebrows. “No former lover you want to get back at? Show the one who got away what she’s missing? Rekindle your love story?”

“I said, no exes.” His shoulders rose with tension.

“Okay, okay, I got it. Calm down, Blackford. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

I watched his lips twitch. In anger or humor, I didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” I continued, enjoying myself far too much. “If it’s not that, then—oh! Is it unrequited love then? It is, isn’t it?” I brought my hands together in front of my chest. “It’s gotta be someone unaware of your longing puppy eyes. No, wait. I don’t think you are capable of pulling off puppy eyes.” I tilted my head, something occurring to me. “You know that you can’t go around, giving women the cold eye if you are interested in them, right? I know puppy eyes was going a bit too far for you, but if there is someone out there who awakens that stone cold heart of yours—”

“No,” he fired back, cutting me off. “You are not here for any of that.” He inhaled deeply, his chest rising. Then, he puffed out the air. “I don’t like to play games, Catalina.”

My hands dropped to my lap. “This particular game or … games in general?” I paused, wondering where his reaction had come from. “Or are we talking about sexy games? Like seduction games?”

My lips snapped shut as soon as I heard my own words.

I couldn’t believe I had said that. To Aaron.

Neither could he, apparently, because he let out a … noise that I had the impression was supposed to be a laugh. Although it couldn’t have possibly been that, sounding closer to … something strangled.

“You …” His head swiveled with disconcertment. “Jesus, Catalina.”

Forehead wrinkling, I opened my mouth to say something, but Aaron spoke first, “If I end things with a woman, I end them.” His voice went at least an octave down, a rumble in the confined space between us. “And if I am interested in someone, I make myself heard. I will find a way for her to know. Sooner or later, she’ll know.” Aaron didn’t look at me, not once. He just spoke with his gaze on the road ahead of us. “I wouldn’t use you, or anyone else, for something like that. As you said back in your apartment, I’m a big boy.”

I felt a wave of warmth climb all the way up to my face. Flushed. I was flushed, and my makeup was probably not doing anything to hide the dark shade of red spreading through my cheeks. I looked away. “Oh, okay.” I fought the urge to touch my face, check if the blush was heating my skin too. “I see.”

I wasn’t seeing a single thing. And frankly, I didn’t understand why his words were making me feel this way either. Or more importantly, why he had asked for my help if he didn’t play games and was a big boy.

But where this man was concerned, I hadn’t seemed to be understanding much lately. Especially when my body had decided to stop cooperating and was acting up in all these stupid ways that turned my skin warm and flushed.

I stared through the window, watching the city lights flick away as we drove. “You said you would tell me everything if I accepted to do this.” I swallowed, not wanting to sound like I cared as much as I did. “If we … did this thing for each other.”

“You are right,” he said, not adding anything else for a long moment, in which I didn’t turn to look at him. “I used to play football in college,” he admitted, catching me completely by surprise.

Very slowly, I gripped the strap of my seat belt while I tried to muffle down the holy shit that had traveled all the way to the tip of my tongue.

Okay, so that wasn’t an explanation. It wasn’t the answer I had expected. But it was the first thing I had ever heard of him that wasn’t work-related. In almost two years. So, if my ears were not deceiving me, Aaron had just opened up—for the first time ever. Because I’d count it as that. Just a tiny little bit, fine, but it was a crack on that hard exterior all the same. And all of a sudden, I wanted to swing a hammer and pummel my way to the other side.

“Football? The one with the helmets and the melon-like ball?” I asked instead, keeping my voice as flat as possible.

I wasn’t a sports doofus, but I was European. I needed to be sure we were talking about the same sport.

“Yes, not soccer. The one with the melon.” He nodded. “I played back home in Seattle, where I went to college.”

“Seattle,” I repeated, chewing on this new piece of information he had given me. More. I wanted just a little more. “That’s Washington up north, right? I know because of Twilight. Forks is supposed to be a few hours away.” I kind of regretted mentioning Twilight, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and besides the few places I had visited, my knowledge on American geography was based on books and movies.

“That’s the one,” he said, his shoulders relaxing down. Just an inch. Which in Aaron’s language meant green light for more questions.

“So, this thing we