Ex and the Single Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

his eyes were smile lines. Great. As if the gorgeous eyes and the killer accent weren ’ t enough, it appeared he had a great disposition, too. I sipped my wine, trying to drown out the sneaking feeling that a crush was forming.
    “ So, this ex of yours,” he said, “ would I have read him?”
    “ Probably not. He ’ s one of those severe literary writers that critics love but no one wants to read.”
    Ian kept his eyes on me. “ What ’ s his name?”
    “ Peter Miller.”
    Ian nodded. “ Coffee Table Memoirs , was it?”
    “ Memoirs from the China Hutch ,” I said, unable to hide my surprise. The book had sold about five copies, and I ’ d bought two of them.
    “ Ah, yes, sorry,” he said quickly. “ It was...” He paused, as though searching for something complimentary to say.
    I jumped i n. “ It ’ s okay if you thought it was bad. We ’ re not together anymore.” I paused. “ As a matter of fact, feel free to say as many bad things as you ’ d like.”
    Ian gave a short chuckle. “ I take it things didn ’ t end well.” I shook my head. “ Do they ever?”
    Ian nod ded. “ Point taken. Well, I ’ m sorry to disappoint, but I didn ’ t think it was bad at all. As I recall, it had a strong philosophical undercurrent. I sensed a deep regard for Kant.”
    My eyes widened. “ You really did read it.”
    He crossed his arms and looked at me, his eyes searching, connecting. “ You ’ re Eloise, aren ’ t you?”
    I lifted my wine, draining the last drop. “ No. That ’ s ridiculous.”
    He grinned, shaking an index finger at me. “ You are. You ’ re Eloise.”
    I shook my head and stared at my toes, bare and dirty, digging holes in the grass. “ Eloise is an amalgam of many women Peter has known...”
    “ But predominantly you.”
    I gave him a long stare. “ Are you telling me I remind you of a stuttering prostitute with an inability to walk in a northerly direction?”
    He laughe d. “ No. It ’ s the tendency you have to tuck your hair behind your ear. You ’ ve done it about five times since we started talking. I put it together when you mentioned the book.”
    My hand froze in midair as it flew to swoop hair behind my ear. I hadn ’ t realize d I was doing it. I stared at my hand hanging in front of me, feeling like an idiot, until Ian gently guided it to the side of my head, running his rough fingertips over mine as he tucked the hair behind my ear for me.
    Oh. Man. Crush. Gah.
    “ There ’ s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “ I thought Eloise was quite charming.”
    He dropped his hand, but maintained eye contact. I had no idea how to respond. Was he saying I was charming? No one had ever called me charming before. Articulate, yes. Driven, absolutely. I ’ d even gotten a slightly inappropriate intriguing from a professor once. But I couldn ’ t recall a single charming. I smiled. I didn ’ t know if it was the wine or Ian Beckett, but for the first time since Mags had bounded down the porch stairs the day befo re, I felt calm and at ease. I inhaled, enjoying the sensation for a moment, knowing it had to be brief.
    After all, I had a plan to stick to.
    “ This is going to sound crazy, but...” I began. At the same moment, Ian also spoke.
    “ She ’ s not coming back with a beer for me, is she?”
    I laughed and shook my head, remembering Vera ’ s excuse for making herself scarce. “ No, she ’ s not.”
    He grinned and leaned toward me a bit. “ Your family isn ’ t terribly subtle.”
    “ No.” I could feel my face growing warm. Again. “ They ’ re no t.” For a moment I considered abandoning the plan, running away, telling the Mizzes I couldn ’ t do it and resigning myself to a summer of harassment. But it wasn ’ t just me in this. Ian would be harassed as well, invited to endless Sunday dinners and variou s contrived social situations until we either slept together or died of natural causes. No, the plan was the only way out. For both of