Read Ex and the Single Girl for Free Online

much more interesting than I am,” he said.
    “ To you, mayb e. I already know me. Now answer the question.” He sighed. “ I don ’ t have a favorite book. Whatever I ’ m reading at the time is usually my favorite book.”
    “ Ahhhh,” I said, rolling my head back to rest against the headboard as I tilted my face toward him. “ No ncommittal answer. Future politician potential. And your favorite color?”
    He rested his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “ Blue.”
    “ Oh, God, boring,” I said.
    His head pivoted to look at me. “ How is blue boring?”
    “ Because every man ’ s favorite color is blue.”
    “ That ’ s not true. My father ’ s favorite color was red.”
    “ Have you ever been married?”
    Ian froze for a second, then tilted his head at me. “ Why would you ask that?”
    “ Why would you ask me about my father?”
    “ Because I was curious.”
    “ And so am I.”
    He was silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “ Yes, I was married. A long time ago. I hardly remember it. Did I ever tell you Marlowe is the real Shakespeare?”
    I laughed. “ Rebuff duly noted, I will not bring it up again.”
    “ I ’ m sorry, I di dn ’ t mean to make you feel —”
    “ Tell me about your favorite...” I said, talking over him with a hint of a smile so he ’ d know I wasn ’ t really offended. I paused, turning my face toward his. Our noses were inches apart. I could smell the wine on his breath.
    “ M y favorite… ?” He was still smiling, but the amusement in his eyes was waning as we looked at each other. I thought about the other items tucked in the pack Bev had given me. I felt my cheeks grow warm again and rolled my eyes at myself.
    “ What?” he said, ey ebrows knitting.
    “ Remember what I told you about Flying?” I asked.
    “ Yes.” His smile quirked up on one side. “ I hardly think I ’ ll forget it.”
    I put my hand on his cheek. It was warm sandpaper. He inhaled sharply at my touch. I liked that.
    “ We could… fly for real if you ’ d like,” I said, barely whispering. Kiss me kiss me kiss me reeled around in my head, like a drunk trying to find a place to lie down.
    Ian turned his face, kissed the palm of my hand, and got up, taking both of our wineglasses.
    “ I think we ’ ve had enough,” he said, settling the wineglasses on the dresser top as he blew out the candles.
    “ It ’ s okay. I ’ ve got condoms in the pack right here, if that ’ s what you ’ re worried about.”
    He laughed and sat down on the bed next to me, putting his hands on eit her side of my waist as he leaned over me.
    “ I have very few rules but one of them involves future English professors who ’ ve had too much to drink.”
    “ Oh.” I thought about arguing over whether I ’ d had too much, but since I was struggling not to slur my words , I figured I ’ d just let it go.
    “ Don ’ t be hurt,” he said. His voice was soft and he was leaning in closer. “ It ’ s not personal.”
    “ Rejection is always personal.”
    “ I haven ’ t rejected you...” he began, pulling back.
    “ Whatever.” I flicked my hand at him, shooing him away. I snatched the covers, pulling them up to my chin and flopping on my side, trying to pretend that I wasn ’ t reliving a thousand rejections, both real and imagined. “ All right. Off with you, then. ’ Night.”
    He push ed himself up off the bed. I heard him moving around in the room, and right when I expected to hear the door closing quietly behind him, I instead caught the distinctive sound of a zipper. I shot up in bed in time to see him taking off his pants.
    “ Offer ’ s off the table, Sir Ian. Back to the farm with you.” He laughed, stepping out of his pants and flipping his T-shirt over his head. He was wearing a pair of flannel boxer shorts. I withheld my sigh. He looked good.
    “ I ’ ve never left a woman in the middle of t he night,” he said, pulling the covers up and hopping into bed next to me,