Repeat - Kylie Scott Page 0,30
No shit. I down some beer, searching for something non-offensive and noninvasive to say, and of course come up empty. “Shannon from your work came to see me the other week.”
He raises a brow. “She did? Guess you two used to get along okay.”
“Apparently we were real close.”
“Don’t know if I’d go that far. But I might be wrong.” His elbows rest on the table, making it hard not to ogle his shoulders. It’s sad how I objectify this man. Sad for me, at least, since my chances of ever touching him are nil to none. I tear my gaze away from him. Much safer to stick to my food.
“Anyway, she had a lot to say about everything. Especially when it came to us. Not that there is an us now. I didn’t mean—”
“Such as?”
“Such as what she was saying? Umm, well, apparently we were fundamentally flawed. This appeared to be based on you thinking I was a delicate creature in need of much careful handling on account of my mother’s long illness and death and all.” I frown. “That’s come up in a couple of conversations. I mean, it had to have been a big thing in my life, right?”
“Yeah,” is all he says.
“Who are you when all of your formative moments are gone?”
He finishes chewing what’s in his mouth, washes it down with beer. “Like I’ve said before, you’re still you, just different. Guess she has a point, losing your mom . . . you’d been sad for a long time. Watching someone you love fade away couldn’t help but mess with your head. And since I knew that, I guess I did try to be careful with you. Maybe to the point of being too careful. Too cautious, not open enough.”
“Mm.”
“What else did she have to say?”
“Sure you want to hear it?”
“I’m asking, aren’t I?” He loads up his mouth again with food, but his gaze remains on me, waiting. Only the kitchen lights behind him and a lamp in the den are on. And in this low light, his eyes are darker. Mysterious, even.
“She said I tried,” I continue. “But I never really fit into your world and that’s what made me insecure. She made me sound like some pretty pathetic, clueless kid from the suburbs who got out of her depth, actually. I mean, she phrased it nicely, but still.”
His brow creases. All of this is dangerous ground. “That’s bullshit. You fit in with me and my family and friends just fine. I never expected you to change for me. Was surprised when you said you wanted the tattoo, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You liked ink on me, but it wasn’t really your thing. Until you decided it was. Anyway, Shannon’s way off,” he says. “My life isn’t edgy or some such bullshit. I go to work, come home and walk my dog, do laundry on the weekends. It’s a long way from anarchy and mayhem.”
“But do you separate the colors when you’re washing? Because if you don’t . . . whoa. That’s really flouting the rules right there.”
“Is it now?”
“Oh yeah. Chaos, pandemonium, total bad-boy territory. Chicks go wild for that sort of thing.”
His gaze is amused.
It warms me. “Believe me or not.”
“I think not.”
“Tell me something formative about you,” I say. Then rush to soften the demand for information before the inevitable wariness enters his eyes. “Roomie. Ed. Friend.”
“That what we are, huh?” He sighs. The question seems to be hypothetical, so I keep my mouth shut. Maybe he’s not sure what label to slap on us either. “Okay. Let me think.”
I eat. Harder to blurt out silly random crap with a full mouth. Or messier at the very least.
“I didn’t have my growth spurt till senior year. I was always one of the shortest in class up until then,” he says. “Never got picked for sports or anything. Some of the other kids gave me so much shit for it. Then, suddenly, I shot up like a foot within six months or so. I guess that counts as formative. It didn’t make any difference to my friends, but some people really started treating me differently.”
“Girls?”
“Yeah, some of them were girls.” Out comes a hint of a smirk. “It was like all of a sudden I existed for a reason other than for piling crap on.”
“Did you score?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
I smile. Maybe not, but I bet he kisses well. The tingles are back.
“It was a good lesson in not falling for people’s false perceptions