40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,81

Lucas suddenly overwhelmed her. She inched away, letting go of his hand and moving until she sat propped against the headboard too, close but not touching him. “He was right about some things, though. And I should have realized he was dissatisfied earlier. The fact that I didn’t…”

She shook her head, carefully not looking at Lucas. All she could see, all she let herself see, were his fists resting on his legs, his tendons and muscles jutting out in sharp relief.

“It was just a symptom of a larger issue.” The hem of her shorts frayed under her plucking fingers. “I’m good with practicalities. If you need to call for a plumber or make sure paperwork gets to the right place or pay a bill on time, I’m your woman. When it comes to emotions, though, I’m not especially skilled. At least, not when it really matters.”

Lucas cleared his throat in a sort of weird rumble, but he didn’t interrupt. When he took another swig of the water, the plastic crackled loudly in his grip.

In a defensive rush, she swung on him. “To be fair, though, I had to focus on all those practicalities, because if I didn’t do it, he certainly wouldn’t. He was always busy researching or writing an article or planning his classes or meeting with grad students or—” Her laugh was sharp and bitter, and it hurt her ears. “Or doing something else with grad students, I suppose.”

She’d caught him once. But in retrospect, she knew he hadn’t strayed once, or even with one graduate student. So many things suddenly made sense, once fitted into the proper context. The way those young female doctoral candidates couldn’t quite meet her eyes at his end-of-semester dinner parties, held at the home she shared with him. The quiet phone conversations he sometimes had in his home office, quickly ended when she appeared in the doorway. The way he always stayed a night or two extra at out-of-town conferences.

All the while, she’d cooked for those parties. Hired the cleaning service that dusted his home office. Made his hotel reservations for those conferences.

“I don’t think he ever scheduled a single doctor’s appointment. I don’t think he ever bought a single pair of his own underwear, not once during the entire time we were together.” Her cheeks burned, but not with shame anymore. With sudden rage. “I had a full-time job too, you know. I taught too. I planned classes too, and I didn’t have a goddamn TA to do my grading for me. But somehow, the fact that his work was more important than mine became a given, and I don’t understand how it happened.”

Her fingernails were biting into her palms hard enough to sting. “I don’t understand how I became his mother, instead of his fiancée and lover and confidante, but I did. And at least part of that is on me. It has to be.”

“Do you feel like my mother?”

Lucas’s voice was low. Tight with some emotion she couldn’t identify, because of course she couldn’t.

She didn’t even have to think about her answer. “Absolutely not.”

Not just because she wanted his tongue, his fingers, his cock inside her, but because—and the irony would choke her if she wasn’t careful—faux-playboy, easy-come-easy-go Lucas seemed to have his shit together in a way her middle-aged fiancé hadn’t.

Since their first meeting, Lucas hadn’t asked her to do a single thing for him. Not one.

Instead, he’d supplied the food for the picnic, located fluffy booties for her cramping belly, and offered her sweet-tart desserts and chocolates shaped like mountains. He woke up early and arrived to his lessons on time, and he arrived to their dates on time too.

He’d…wooed her. Like an adult, not a boy in a man’s body.

His fists on his taut thighs still hadn’t unclenched. “Just so you know, I make my own appointments. I buy my own underwear. I pay my own bills. If I make a mess, I clean it up.”

She thought she recognized that emotion in his voice now.

“Are you…” God, was she really having to ask this twice in one day? “Are you angry at me?”

“Fuck, no.” The words were loud. Immediate. “Shit, Tess, how could you even think that?”

“I told you.” The wry smile hurt her cheeks, but she offered it anyway. “I’m not great at emotions sometimes.”

Suddenly he was in front of her, straddling her legs. Cupping her face, his thumbs passing in gentle sweeps over her cheeks. Pressing a sweet, light kiss on her trembling lips.

“That’s