Chapter 74 Elizabeth

• I look up at the ceiling. Huxley is tall and handsome—the best-looking guy I know. He’s incredibly clever—his crack last night about bribing the examination officer for a pass in mathematics was amusing because he was top of all his mathematics and economics classes. The guy’s a fucking smart arse. He’s honorable and fair. Very funny. Extremely affable and a great host, seeing it as his calling in life to put everyone at ease. And because of all that I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s great in bed. He sounds perfect.
• But he’s not of course. I can overlook the fact that he’s afraid of spiders, heights, thunderstorms, needles, clowns, dolls, the sight of blood, and probably a dozen other things. I can forgive him for being incredibly ambitious, a tad arrogant, squeamish, for only eating his food one item at a time without mixing them on his plate, for liking practical jokes, and for being stubborn and prideful and even Mr. Darcy-like at times, refusing to admit he’s wrong.
• I can forget all that. But when it comes down to it, I can’t forget that he’s a player, a tomcat who’s never been out with a girl for more than six months, in my knowledge. That’s not to say he uses women. I don’t think he’s ever had to talk a girl into his bed, and I doubt he’s ever had to promise a wedding ring to get them to sleep with him. But I’ve had to console girls when they’ve come to find him and he’s conveniently disappeared. I’ve watched them cry, and I’ve been determined never to put myself in the same position.