The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,88
“You don’t have to say that. You already got me in bed.”
I pass her my coffee. “You have a lot to learn about me.”
“Oh yeah?” She curls her hands around the mug and takes a sip, humming pleasurably. “Teach me.”
“I don’t pass out compliments. Never have, never will. I have no reason to. When I say something, it’s ’cause I mean it.”
Two red patches form on her cheeks. “All right.”
“Something else about me you should know going forward,” I say.
“Forward—”
“I don’t find beauty in the glossy stuff.”
She blinks up at me, and I think she’s attempting to suppress a smile. “Where do you find it?”
“When you get done up with your hair and makeup and dress—I like it if it’s for me. I like when you’re messy, like now, if it’s because of me. I don’t find my daughter beautiful because she has nice hair or unusual, blue eyes. She glows like a beacon from the inside. When you let me see you without hair and makeup, it makes me feel like you’re beginning to trust me, and that . . .” I pause, taking in her alarmed expression. Steam from the coffee coils around her face. “It’s really beautiful,” I finish.
She swallows. “Andrew . . . please don’t tell me—”
“I’m not telling you what you want to hear.”
“That’s not what I was going to say. I believe you. I just . . . don’t tell me what you tell other girls. That’s all I ask.”
She wants to be special. Or, at least, different. Is it because she’s jealous? I let a slow smile spread over my face and don’t respond for a few seconds, enjoying the way uncertainty sets on her face. “Is that all you ask?” I repeat. “Or are you asking me not to tell other girls anything at all?”
She glances into the drink. “I mean, that wasn’t really our deal . . . we haven’t discussed anything other than—but last night . . .”
I wait. I could rescue her, but I want to hear what she has to say. Honesty has been a two-way street for us, and if it’s going to work, it has to stay that way. I’m not going to guess what she’s thinking just so she doesn’t have to own it.
She looks up again, a new determination in her eyes. “I don’t know what I want,” she says. “And that’s the truth. The idea of other girls makes my stomach hurt. But I can’t ask more of you, because I don’t know if I can give more.”
I feel a slight pinch of disappointment, but then it’s gone. This isn’t Amelia’s fault. It’s that motherfucker ex-husband of hers. After what she told me last night, I can’t expect her to trust me just because I ask it of her. I’ll have to prove to her I’m worth it, and for the first time since Shana left, I’m up for the challenge. Amelia is broken. I can help her through it, because I was broken too.
Was? My thoughts grind to a halt. I was broken? I’ve known for some time that my resentment toward Shana was weakening. When I thought of her, anger was no longer instant; it took me more time to work up to it. But am I finally past it? It’s been almost four years to the day. Everyone who knew Shana and me said ‘give it time.’ I’d thought it was bullshit. Maybe I’ve been here awhile and didn’t realize it until Amelia came along.
She’s gnawing on her bottom lip. I’ve left her out in the cold with no response. “There are none,” I say.
She tilts her head. “None what?”
“Other girls. There are girls that I—” I believe in honesty, but I don’t think it’s necessary to go into more detail about Denise or anyone else than I already have. Other girls lost their appeal the night I met Amelia. But they left the picture completely last night at the dinner table when I watched Amelia with Bell. She wasn’t perfect, and I realized I didn’t need her to be. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex in my life. What we did last night wasn’t that. I like this better.”
Her lips twitch before she gives in to a hesitant smile. “Well, you know where I stand—in terms of sexual partners. You had to clear the cobwebs away that first night.”
“Good thing I find cobwebs sexy.”
She laughs quick and loud, caught off guard, and then her shoulders relax against the