Chapter 10: Just Like Mr. Darcy

Kissing Alex might not be that bad, I tell myself. Weird, maybe. But probably not bad. I mean, the guy dates supermodels now. They're probably just in it for the money, but he can't be that bad a kisser if they stick around for more than a few dates, right? Or do gold diggers not care about that sort of thing? I mean, if I were a gold digger, that would totally still be part of the equation. I don't care how rich a guy is - if he's all drool-y when he kisses, I don't think I'd survive very long in that relationship. And when it came to sex...

"Do gold diggers care about sex?" I ask Alex.

He blinks. "What?"

"In a relationship, do they care about the sex and the kissing and all that, or just the money?"

He sits up abruptly. "What the heck are you talking about?"

The sudden absence of his weight on top of me makes me feel weirdly empty.

"Weren't we just talking about this?" I say. "About gold diggers and bad kissers and..."

He looks at me like I'm possibly insane, which means it was probably just in my head. Shit. I'm much, much drunker than I thought.

I sit up - too quickly, because the world starts to spin around me and I almost fall over again. But Alex is there to catch me, and his hands close around my arms, holding me steady.

"Maybe we should get you home," he says.

"I'm fine," I insist again, but my tongue seems to tangle over the word fine. Fuck, I'm a mess.

Alex climbs down off the rock then reaches out to me. "Here, let me help you."

I nearly fall again trying to get down, but once more, Alex catches me.

"I can see you're still a cheap date," he says, chuckling.

"I'm not cheap. You didn't tell me that shit was so strong."

He has his arm around my waist, but I don't make it two steps up the riverbank before tripping over a tree root.

"I should have cut you off a while ago," he says.

"Oh, please. I've seen you a lot drunker than this." I turn and put my finger right in the center of his chest. "Remember that time you...you jumped that fence and chased all of Marshall Hickory's chickens? And then you...you were sick all over his doorstep, and I had to pretend you had the flu and were hallunicating..." I hiccup. "Or that time when you found that log that you were convinced was a - "

"All right, that's enough story time," he says. Without warning, he grabs me and scoops me up in his arms.

"Hey!" I say, feeling as if the world has spun around me again. "Hey - put me down! I can walk!"

"I beg to disagree."

"I beg to disagree," I say in a teasing tone. "Oh! Mr. Darcy! That is who I was trying to think of earlier. You sound just like Mr. Darcy!"

He laughs, and I can feel it rumble through him where I'm pressed against his chest.

"Is that a good thing?" he asks as he starts back up the path with me in his arms. "I don't know who that is."

"How do you not know who Mr. Darcy is? He's from...from Pride and Prejudice. We read it in English class in high school."

"I failed English."

I frown. "You failed English? I don't remember that."

"Well, I did. And I don't know who Mr. Darcy is. But I take it he's not a very likable guy if it's so terrible to sound like him?"

"Oh, no - he's the best. Pretty much every girl ever is in love with him. He's like the original brooding rich guy."

He raises an eyebrow. "You think I'm brooding?"

"No! You just sound like him when you use all your fancy formal words. It's weird."

"But not a bad thing?"

"Not really. I mean, some girls probably find it really hot. Maybe that's why you're dating supermodels now. That and the money. But probably not just the money. I mean, I guess supermodels can have their pick of all the guys with money. They don't have to settle for the ugly ones. Not that you're ugly - I actually think you're probably a lot better looking than most billionaires. I mean, they do keep putting you in those celebrity magazines." I clamp my mouth shut, suddenly realizing that I'm rambling, but Alex only gives another low laugh.

"So I'm not one of the ugly billionaires and I sound like some character that lots of women are in love with. I can deal with that."

"Yes." I nod, but the motion makes me feel dizzy. I let my head fall to the side, against his shoulder. "You know, if that supermodel saw you carrying me like this I'd bet she'd be jealous."

"I bet she would." I can hear the smile - and the humor - in his voice.

"But you shouldn't cheat on her," I say, suddenly remembering why I came down here in the first place. "Never ever."

"I know," he says softly.

The rhythm of his steps is soothing. I let my eyes fall closed.

Alex must be wearing some fancy new cologne, because I don't remember him smelling quite like this. Not that I spent a lot of time smelling him when we were growing up together - as I said, we never had that kind of relationship - but you definitely notice when one of your close friends smells different. It's not bad - just different. In fact, it's much nicer than whatever cologne Wes used to wear.

Wes. I don't want to think about him. Not anymore. I'm exhausted. And Wes is a douche.

At least not all men are assholes, I think. At least good men like Alex still exist in this world. Actually, it's kind of a mystery to me why Alex is still single. I mean, it's pretty obvious from watching the tabloids that there are tons of beautiful women who want to date him, but I guess I'm a little surprised none of them has managed to nail that down yet.

I'm glad nothing ever happened between the two of us. Sex just complicates things, and after these last few days, I'd rather go on believing that there are still decent men in this world - men who don't make their decisions based entirely on the needs of their cock.

I smile, nestling my face a little closer into Alex's shoulder. My palm flattens against his chest, and I try not to feel for the muscles underneath.

You're going to make some woman very happy someday, Alex Grant, I think, as the drunken drowsiness starts to take over. Me? I'm planning on being single for the rest of my life. So feel free to come visit me when I'm an old spinster with a dozen cats. It'll be nice to have a reminder that not all men are complete scum.