Perfecting the Odds by Brenna St. Clare Page A

people who are clearly attracted to each other. But we’ve known each other for a total of two nights. We met in a bar… when my husband was dying in the hospital!” she exclaimed. “How can you even want someone like that? Someone who couldn’t stand looking at her sick husband for one more second. And…and I don’t even know how old you are! What you do for a living! You could be a goddamn serial rapist.” She ignored his chuckle and rolled her shoulders to regain some composure. He stood still, his hands now in his pockets, his head lowered—a vision of subjugation. “This is my blame, too, Michael. How I’ve acted tonight…isn’t me. I lost control, which is really not me. I apologize, but this… we”— gesturing between them—“aren’t going to work,” she said, already turning toward the door. God, the aching needed to stop if she was going to survive walking away from him.
    Just walk three goddamn feet, Karis. 
    He gently pulled her hand and held both of her hands in his. Relentless, this man. She tried to jerk them away, without success because it was there again, that fierce, elusive thing that inescapably cinched every inch of her body to him and extinguished every modicum of willpower. Those decadent eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life. They bore, simply, please.
    In the little time she’d had with him, she’d already amassed a tremendous amount of …something. But it couldn’t be more than attraction. Couldn’t. Nevertheless, whatever it was, she knew losing it meant having to bury more pain, which was exactly what she was trying to avoid in the first place. Frickin’ figures.
    “ Karis?” Her name on his lips sent another sting through her chest. She shut her eyes and chanted a silent prayer for it to stop.
    She could only muster a “ Yes?”
    “ Do you know how many long-term, committed relationships I’ve been in?”
    “That’s my point. I know nothing about you, and--”
    “None,” he interrupted. “I’m thirty- six years old, and until you, I never wanted a woman for longer than a few nights. I was content to work and satisfy my needs with shallow conquests. I hadn’t yet met anyone who made want something different, someone who made me feel what I feel when I’m with you. And even though we don’t know what we have, and even though you think we’re just attracted, I know we should at least try to discover what more would be. Damn it, I’ve avoided more my whole fucking life, but now…now, it’s all I think about. Fuck.” Karis cleared her throat and tried to register what he was saying to her. He seemed as conflicted as she felt. What did more mean to her? She met his eyes and he ran his thumb over her cheek bone, down her neck. “Karis, my full name is Michael Joseph Finn. I grew up on the Eastern Shore, and my mother still lives there. My father died when I was fifteen.  I am the oldest of three children. I have two younger sisters, Megan and Lily. I joined the Marine Corp at eighteen with my best friend Scott and served two tours in Afghanistan. You probably saw him dancing with Eve tonight. We were honorably discharged after four years and then decided to pursue our dream professions. Currently, I’m a professor of British Literature. I specialize in the works of John Donne.”
    She gasped. “Are you frickin’ kidding me?” She bit her lip to stop herself from telling him how their occupations sounded like the opening to a horrible joke: An English professor and an English teacher walk into a bar…
    “No , ma’am.”
    “I hate when people call me ma’am.”
    “I know.” Ass. “Even though I favor British Literature, I prefer American-made everything else. I drive a black Ford F150. My favorite color is blue. I don’t care for animals, but love kids.” He shrugged. “I think because I helped raise my sisters after my father died. Yes, there were three females in the house with me at all times, two of which were teenagers for so long,