The Rules Regarding Gray by Elizabeth Finn Read Free Book Online Page A

room table on the opposite side of the island. Her living room was in the exterior front corner, and there was a large dance studio area in the back exterior corner. Her bathroom appeared to be the only door in the place, and it was in the back interior corner of the loft, again built into the alcove created by the elevator and elevator lobby.
    She watched him as his eyes traveled around her space, but she wasn’t smiling. He wandered away to the dance studio area, and she was the one trailing after him then. He stood on the edge of the large square of finished hardwood, and when she stepped up beside him, he glanced down to her.
    “What are those spinny things you do?”
    She smirked slightly. “A pirouette?”
    “Yeah. Show me.” He held his eyes on her.
    “I don’t think so.” She was so expressionless as she watched him.
    “Why not? I thought you liked to dance.”
    She studied him for a moment. “Are we really talking about dancing?” she said quietly.
    “Well, what do you think I’m talking about?”
    She stared at him but said nothing.
    “Fucking?” he offered.
    She shrugged.
    “I see.” He turned and wandered toward the living room as she watched after him. He stopped at one of the large windows on the front of her loft, and after he looked down at his car four stories below, he turned back to her. “I’m not talking about fucking.”
    She walked toward him. “He said you knew.”
    He didn’t know what this expression was. Anger. Hurt. Complete and utter distrust. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.
    But he nodded slowly. “Knowing and agreeing are two entirely different things. Did he fail to mention I’d already refused?”
    She stopped walking then. She was five feet from him, and he focused on her, saying nothing for a moment.
    “Of course he did,” he finally muttered. “He brought it up the very day I met you. I told him I wasn’t interested. So how about you direct the anger boiling through your veins right now in the right direction.” His words were clipped and harsh, but in truth, he was misplacing his anger as much as she was. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
    “Well, I’m not your type after all.” She smirked subtly, but it fell from her face quickly as her eyes drifted away.
    He let his gaze wander over her body, stopping at her tits for a moment before moving on down to the short denim skirt she was wearing. She looked a little ridiculous really in her leotard and tights with a worn denim skirt, and as his focus traveled lower to her feet, his brow wrinkled in confusion. Her feet were bare under her sandals, and her tights were pushed up her ankles. He wasn’t sure why he’d expected them to be closed toed at the bottom, but clearly they weren’t, and when he slowly let his focus move back up her body, he took a deep breath.
    She sure as hell felt like his type.
    She was watching him again as he looked her over, but her arms were crossed on her chest now.
    “You’ve … shared women with him before, haven’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    She nodded, looking more disappointed than appeased.
    “It’s been a while,” he commented blandly.
    “Why do you do it?” She swallowed over a lump as she looked at him.
    He looked away for a moment, glancing at the ceiling and feeling like a fucking chump. This was a conversation she should be having with Ian, not him. But he had to admit, it stroked his fucking ego like nothing else that she was choosing to have it with him—even if there was little chance she was going to like what he had to say.
    “Because it feels good.” He glanced back at her. He was usually blunt, and frankly, he preferred it that way, but for some reason, he felt vulnerable for it at the moment.
    She shook her head in what he could only guess was disdain or confusion.
    “What? You expected me to say something profound and meaningful?” He wasn’t trying to be an asshole, but her mouth dropped open as he watched her. “Sorry to disappoint