Read Online The Pitch: City Love 2 by Belinda Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Belinda Williams
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took a long sip from my wine glass. The Shiraz warmed my throat as it went down and I was grateful for the alcohol. I needed to loosen up. Or get a grip. I wasn’t sure which. “You’re not seeing your boys this weekend?”
Paul shook his head. “Next weekend. The weekends I don’t see them always feel quiet.”
I pondered his response before replying. “While it’s hardly a good thing you only get to see them every second weekend, most parents don’t get the opportunity to have a social life.”
“I’d trade it in an instant. My boys are far more interesting to me than socializing. Present company excluded, of course.”
I smiled at him. “Thanks. How long has that been the arrangement?”
“Almost five years. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.” The look in his eyes reminded me of his expression several nights ago when we left Grounded Marketing. He seemed wounded. Weary.
It was time to change the subject. “So do you still play guitar?”
He leaned back in his chair with a soft smile. “I don’t even own a guitar anymore,” he admitted.
“Really? It sounded as though it was a big part of your life. What happened?”
He shrugged. “Life. Work. Children. I hardly picked it up once we had the kids and then when we divorced, it got damaged in the move. I never bothered to replace it. Do you play anything?”
I responded with a short laugh, then pointed at myself. “You’re looking at the first clarinet player in my high school band,” I announced, a little too proudly. “Once I hit eighteen I didn’t really bother anymore. I was too sophisticated for it.”
“Right.” He looked as though he was trying to imagine me playing the clarinet – without much success.
“I listen to a lot of music,” I continued. “My taste is pretty eclectic. I sometimes listen to classical when I’m working and I don’t mind some of the pop stuff like Katy Perry or Kylie.” I laughed at his unimpressed expression. “My real weakness is rock. Coldplay, Temper Trap, the Foals. I grew up on a steady diet of Pearl Jam, Radiohead, Metallica, that sort of thing.”
“Now we’re talking,” Paul said with a look of respect. “Although I’m afraid I’ll show my age when it comes to my tastes.”
“And what age would that be?” I asked innocently.
Amusement flared in his eyes. “You don’t give up do you?”
“It’s one of my strengths.”
“I can believe it.”
“So?”
He set down his glass of wine. “So what?”
“If you’re not going to tell me your age at least tell me what old-timer music you’re into.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Alright. Pink Floyd, INXS, Midnight Oil, Crowded House, Dire Straits.”
“The eighties. I’m a child of the eighties, but the nineties were my formative years. That must mean you were born in the nineteen seventies,” I concluded.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he raised the wine glass to his lips. Those mesmerizing blue eyes watched me as he took another sip.
My eyebrows shot up. “The sixties? ”
He swallowed and his mouth curled into a sly grin. He was playing with me.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Early seventies.”
He set his glass back down. “I’m forty-four.”
Hmm. So not too old, but older than I was expecting, I realized. “You look late thirties to me, forty at the most.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should. And I like those bands too, you know. They’re classics.”
Paul’s smile was teasing. “Good to know you’re more than just a pretty face.”
I gave him my most offended look. “I thought you’d figured out I was more than that by now.”
Paul’s expression turned serious. “I knew you were more than that the first moment I set eyes on you,” he said softly. “Although I wouldn’t be the only man awestruck by your beauty.”
Had I heard right? Or had I had too much to drink? “I – ” I began, then closed my mouth. I had no idea what to say next.
“I’m sorry.”
Paul shook his head. “Next weekend. The weekends I don’t see them always feel quiet.”
I pondered his response before replying. “While it’s hardly a good thing you only get to see them every second weekend, most parents don’t get the opportunity to have a social life.”
“I’d trade it in an instant. My boys are far more interesting to me than socializing. Present company excluded, of course.”
I smiled at him. “Thanks. How long has that been the arrangement?”
“Almost five years. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.” The look in his eyes reminded me of his expression several nights ago when we left Grounded Marketing. He seemed wounded. Weary.
It was time to change the subject. “So do you still play guitar?”
He leaned back in his chair with a soft smile. “I don’t even own a guitar anymore,” he admitted.
“Really? It sounded as though it was a big part of your life. What happened?”
He shrugged. “Life. Work. Children. I hardly picked it up once we had the kids and then when we divorced, it got damaged in the move. I never bothered to replace it. Do you play anything?”
I responded with a short laugh, then pointed at myself. “You’re looking at the first clarinet player in my high school band,” I announced, a little too proudly. “Once I hit eighteen I didn’t really bother anymore. I was too sophisticated for it.”
“Right.” He looked as though he was trying to imagine me playing the clarinet – without much success.
“I listen to a lot of music,” I continued. “My taste is pretty eclectic. I sometimes listen to classical when I’m working and I don’t mind some of the pop stuff like Katy Perry or Kylie.” I laughed at his unimpressed expression. “My real weakness is rock. Coldplay, Temper Trap, the Foals. I grew up on a steady diet of Pearl Jam, Radiohead, Metallica, that sort of thing.”
“Now we’re talking,” Paul said with a look of respect. “Although I’m afraid I’ll show my age when it comes to my tastes.”
“And what age would that be?” I asked innocently.
Amusement flared in his eyes. “You don’t give up do you?”
“It’s one of my strengths.”
“I can believe it.”
“So?”
He set down his glass of wine. “So what?”
“If you’re not going to tell me your age at least tell me what old-timer music you’re into.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Alright. Pink Floyd, INXS, Midnight Oil, Crowded House, Dire Straits.”
“The eighties. I’m a child of the eighties, but the nineties were my formative years. That must mean you were born in the nineteen seventies,” I concluded.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he raised the wine glass to his lips. Those mesmerizing blue eyes watched me as he took another sip.
My eyebrows shot up. “The sixties? ”
He swallowed and his mouth curled into a sly grin. He was playing with me.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Early seventies.”
He set his glass back down. “I’m forty-four.”
Hmm. So not too old, but older than I was expecting, I realized. “You look late thirties to me, forty at the most.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should. And I like those bands too, you know. They’re classics.”
Paul’s smile was teasing. “Good to know you’re more than just a pretty face.”
I gave him my most offended look. “I thought you’d figured out I was more than that by now.”
Paul’s expression turned serious. “I knew you were more than that the first moment I set eyes on you,” he said softly. “Although I wouldn’t be the only man awestruck by your beauty.”
Had I heard right? Or had I had too much to drink? “I – ” I began, then closed my mouth. I had no idea what to say next.
“I’m sorry.”
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