“We do. My family is insane and all up in one another’s business, but I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. You know?”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “It must be nice to be surrounded by people who want to be around you.”
“And your people?” I ask her.
She tenses in my arms. “I don’t want to bring this conversation down, Mello.” She sighs. “What time do you have to leave?”
I shift my body, moving myself upward until my back is flush against the pillows, and I bring her with me. “I know we barely know each other, and you can totally tell me to fuck off, but don’t worry about bringing me down. I want to know who you are, where you come from, and who made you this strong, kick-ass chick next to me.”
Arlo sits up, laying her legs across mine, and twists her fingers together. “I don’t have people, Mello. It’s just me.”
I place my hands on her legs, giving her thigh a squeeze. “No one?”
“No one,” she repeats, gazing down at her hands. “I was adopted at birth, and then my parents died when I was eight. After that, I went into foster care, bouncing around from house to house, until I was eighteen and was turned out.”
I furrow my brows, my fingers tightening. “Turned out?”
“When you’re eighteen, you get emancipated and basically kicked to the curb to fend for yourself. I got lucky, though, when an agent saw me on the beach, offering me a career in modeling, which gave me the ability to support myself with a roof over my head and food in my belly. Otherwise, I don’t know where I’d be.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, hating to think of her at a young age with no one and nothing. “That’s awful, Arlo.”
She shrugs and finally looks at me with those striking green eyes. “I didn’t know any different. I mean, I know it’s not how it is for every kid, but I was surrounded by other foster kids, and it’s the reality for a lot of us. No one wants to adopt an older child when there are cute babies in need of a home without all the emotional baggage.”
I seriously can’t imagine. I’ve been blessed with two loving parents and a giant family my entire life. Then there’s Rocco, my twin. Not a day has passed when I don’t have someone to turn to or lean on when shit gets rough.
“And your birth parents…did you ever look for them?”
“I never have. I didn’t see the point. They didn’t want me then, and the last thing I wanted to do was make them feel guilty about giving me up only to have a shit life.”
“But you have a good life now,” I tell her, looking around her fancy place. “A pretty impressive life.”
She looks around too, seeing what I see, and smiles. “I have the life I created, and I don’t think letting someone else into that life would be wise, especially if I wasn’t wanted in the first place.”
I grab her hands, wrapping my fingers around hers. “Maybe you were wanted, but they weren’t able to take care of you or were too young.”
She gives me a sorrowful smile. “Maybe, but I’m perfectly content leaving the past in the past. It’s easier for me that way.”
“I can understand, sugar. I don’t know what I would do in your circumstances.”
“You’re kind of sweet.”
“Only kind of?” I tease her, trying to lighten the mood.
“You’re mostly an asshole with a little sweet mixed in.”
“You nailed me. Can’t argue with the truth, babe.” There’s silence for a few seconds before I say, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
She snuggles into my side, placing her hand back against my chest, right over my heart. “You opened up to me last night, so it was only fair that I opened up to you.”
“I needed you to understand why I do fucked-up shit. It’s different. You didn’t need to open up to me.”
“I need you to understand why I’m fucked up too,” she whispers against my bare chest.
“I don’t think you’re fucked up.”
She tips her head back again, staring up at me. “How many people do you know my age who are single and not sleeping around, Mello?”
I grimace, getting her point. “Just you, babe.”
“See. That’s fucked up.”
“That’s sweet,” I correct her. “Nothing fucked up about it.”
She moves her eyes away from me, pointing them down the length of my body. “I clearly have trust and intimacy issues, or