Best Of My Love. Сьюзен Мэллери

      “What do you mean?”

      “With our afternoon. We have to do something.”

      “Why? We’re talking. That’s nice. We could go to Jo’s Bar and get margaritas.”

      Aidan shifted back in his seat. If she didn’t know better she would swear he was starting to sweat. “No. Guys don’t go get margaritas and talk.”

      “You go get beers. It’s the same thing.”

      “We get a beer and watch sports. It’s not the same thing. Women want to talk everything to death. Guys don’t do that. If you ignore most problems, they usually go away.”

      “Uh-huh. And how’s that strategy working for you?”

      “I’m here, aren’t I?”

      “Yes. Trying not to talk about what’s wrong.”

      “We could do something,” he offered. “Like watch a game. Or go skiing.”

      Shelby considered his options. “You realize none of those require conversation.”

      Aidan relaxed a little. “Isn’t that great?”

      “But we have to get to know each other. We have to talk about our feelings.”

      He winced. “Why?”

      “We just do. That’s what...” She felt her eyes widen. “We’re totally different. The man-woman thing is real. I want to go have a conversation about my life and your life and what we can do to help each other, and you want to physically do something with only the occasional grunt for conversation. As a man, you don’t want to talk about anyone’s feelings, let alone your own.”

      “You say that like it’s a bad thing. It’s not. Not talking about your feelings can be very relaxing.”

      Which might be true but wasn’t helpful. “We really didn’t think this through.”

      Aidan leaned toward her. “No. Do not give up on me now. We have a deal. We’ve gotten this far, we can figure out the rest of it. You want to do girl stuff and I want to do guy stuff.”

      He gave her a slow, sexy smile. One that had her breath catching. But before she could do something ridiculous, like bat her eyes at him or flip her hair, she reminded herself that it wasn’t a slow, sexy smile. They weren’t involved that way. It was just a smile. She would ignore any subtext her hormones might read in to the situation.

      “I know,” he told her. “We’ll alternate. Girl date, guy date. Not date, but you know what I mean.”

      “That could work. We could each plan our gender event.” She grimaced. Avoiding the word date was harder that she would have thought.

      “Gender event?”

      “Do you have a better phrase?”

      “I’m liking gender event.”

      She laughed. “Okay, so you’re responsible for boy things and I’m in charge of girl things. And yes on the alternating. So who goes first?”

      He stretched out his arms, one hand flat, the other curled into a fist. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

      She shifted until she was facing him, then together they hit their fists against their flat hands and counted to three.

      “Rock,” Aidan said triumphantly, then groaned when he saw her paper. “You win.”

      “I know,” she told him. “Poor you. I grew up with a brother. Why do guys always start out with rock? It’s very predictable.”

      “We can’t help ourselves.” He stood. “We’re going to get margaritas and talk about our feelings, aren’t we?”

      “You know it.”

      * * *

      JO’S BAR HAD been around for eight or nine years. Aidan had been there a few times, but it wasn’t the kind of place he and his friends liked to hang out. For one thing, the bar catered to women.

      On the surface, that might seem like a good thing—lots of beautiful women hanging out. What’s not to like? Only it wasn’t that kind of place. For one thing, the lighting was way too bright. There were no dark corners or ratty old booths. Instead the booths were new and scaled down in size. There were tables everywhere. The walls were painted some weird light purple color—Nick would know the name of the shade, but he didn’t.

      While there were plenty of TVs around, they were always turned to shopping or female-based reality shows. The menu had lots of salads on it and most of the drinks had a diet version. The only part of the bar that felt close to normal was the small room in back with a pool table, but even with that concession, Jo’s generally wasn’t a place men went to on purpose.

      Now The Man Cave was different. More male-friendly. Not that Shelby led him there.

      “Isn’t this nice?” she asked as they walked inside.

      “Uh-huh.”

      “Oh, look.” She pointed to the televisions. “They’re having an America’s Next Top Model marathon. I love that show.”

      He’d never seen it. When he glanced at the screen, he saw women posing for pictures, which should have been appealing. Except they all looked really young and he wasn’t interested in some skinny teenager, thank you very much. Not that he was interested in women at all, he reminded himself. There would be none of that for him—for at least six months.

      There weren’t a lot of customers on a nonfestival Saturday afternoon. A couple of groups of women seemed to be finishing up lunch. There was a young couple at a booth in the corner. He and Shelby took seats at a small booth in the back. Aidan had a clear view of a TV, which he considered appropriate punishment for all his past misdeeds.

      Jo walked over and looked between them. “This is new,” she said. Her gaze settled on him. “I thought you only did tourists.”

      “Hi, Jo.” Because there didn’t seem to be a better response.

      “We’re not dating,” Shelby told the other woman. “We’re friends. It’s not romantic.”

      “If you say so. What can I get you?”

      “A pitcher of margaritas and some nachos,” Shelby said with a smile. “We’re going to talk.”

      Jo’s brows rose. “All righty then. I have carnitas nachos today. You want that?”

      “Meat is good,” Aidan said.

      “Then meat.” Shelby smiled at Jo. “Thank you.”

      Jo left. Aidan couldn’t begin to imagine what she was thinking, or what rumors would be spreading through town over the next few days. Whatever they were, he would deal.

      Shelby looked at him. “How was your week?”

      “Fine.”

      One corner of her mouth twitched. “Could you expand on that? Maybe give me a few details?”

      Because they were “talking.” He drew in a breath. “Work is busy. We have a good snowpack this year, which helps with business. Lots of skiing. I’m offering a snowshoeing class for beginners. That meant buying more equipment, but I think it will pay off in the long run.”

      “With people coming back next year?”

      “And telling their friends they had a good time.”

      “Is it difficult to learn how to do it?” she asked.

      “No. It’s like walking in sand with really big shoes. Level terrain isn’t bad. Uphill is tiring and downhill is the biggest challenge.”

      “Gravity,” she said with a smile. “It always gets you in the end. Kipling used to say that.”

      As