I stare at his muscular back as he saunters out of the room. I swear, nothing fazes this man. I can glower and glare at him all day long, and he won’t bat an eye. My brooding doesn’t bother him. My refusal to talk about my feelings doesn’t test his patience. He’s rock steady, and I don’t get it. Doesn’t he realize he’s wasting his time? And yet, despite my reluctance to lower my guard around him, I find myself sliding into the passenger seat of Keaton’s BMW twenty minutes later. Nobody ever said I was smart.
