Free Jaded by Ember Leigh Page A

sighed again. “So this upcoming wedding has been throwing a shit storm of pressure on me. And my family doesn’t know how to process the concept of voluntary singledom.”
    “You know what helps when I feel pressure?” Luke leaned in close to her and narrowed his eyes.
    “What’s that?”
    “Sex. Lots of it.”
    Isabella laughed despite herself. “Oh, come on.”
    “Really. A nice, hot night of uninterrupted sex...or, lovemaking...whatever you want to call it. That really takes the pressure off.” He leaned back and winked at her again. She fought to keep the heat from rising up her neck and into her cheeks.
    She hesitated, watching him for a moment before responding. He was starting to make a case for himself, and the more she was around him the more she wanted to see it become a reality. Maybe she could control the emotional aspect; maybe she could approach it from a new angle. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, the waitress arrived at their table with their main courses. After offering fresh-ground parmesan and drink refills, Luke and Isabella looked at each other over steaming plates of pasta.
    Isabella leaned in close to him. “Just tell me one thing. Are you, or are you not, a sex-crazed maniac?”

Chapter Four
    Luke was shocked by her abrupt forwardness, but his cool grin never wavered.
    “Who, me? Come on, it’s not like I get the shakes if I don’t get laid every day.”
    “How many girlfriends have you had?” She narrowed her eyes at him, deftly twirling spaghetti around her fork without breaking her gaze.
    His thoughts screeched to a halt. Now this was a tough one. He’d been with too many women to count, whispered too many empty, sexy things into too many moist ears, and fondled too many heavy, augmented breasts to be expected to remember each one. But they weren’t girlfriends. They were one-night stands, flings, bets, or bad decisions in his youth. But she hadn’t asked him that, so he had her on a technicality.
    “Three.”
    “That’s it? Just three?” She seemed horrified. “That’s an average of like, one girlfriend a decade.”
    “Interesting math, Isabella. That would make sense if I’d started dating girls when I was born, maybe.” He laughed.
    “Okay, so I’m a writer, not a numbers girl. But, really, just three?”
    “Really.”
    There was another moment of silence. “Okay fine,” she said, “and how many times have you been in love?”
    Another tough question, one that made his heart wrench in his chest. Why did women need to know these things, and why did he feel suddenly guilty about his lack of serious relationships? He was a ladies’ man, and that’s how it had always been. Maybe this was why he avoided relationships—they made him confront the fact that he was, perhaps, actually a player. He just liked the variety, the never-ending sea of women available to him, should he choose. To settle down with just one seemed a little strange. Why pick one when you can have all? His adventures with relationships had been relatively boring and unfulfilling—but he realized in retrospect that that had probably been due to the IQ of the women involved. It had never seemed like he’d find someone to change his mind on it, so he’d never tried to look.
    “I, uh...I love my mom.”
    She stared at him, wide-eyed, for a moment before bursting into laughter. “I don’t mean that kind of love.”
    “Well, I guess I’ve never been in love then,” he mumbled, pushing a breadstick around on his plate.
    “I find this hard to believe,” she said. “You haven’t even been almost in love? Like, right on the cusp?”
    He was suddenly annoyed. If that was so outlandish to her, he had a whole list of things that would give her a heart attack. And besides, he didn’t like how he felt suddenly inferior to her, as though his confession made her pity him.
    “I haven’t met the right girl,” he said with a harsh exhale. “And to be honest, I’m not really looking for