I look at Legend. “I don’t want that.”
Sophie’s eyes narrow, but she says nothing.
I look back at Amelia. “Want ain’t the word. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Your kid looked at me like Iknow where dinosaurs come from. Your husband wears shoes that make me want to commit crimes. And I’m not, under any circumstance, driving a minivan.”
Amelia stares at me.
Then, God help us both, she laughs.
It ain’t big.
It ain’t steady.
But it’s there.
Sophie smiles.
Legend looks annoyed because I made a joke during strategy, which means I’m improving the mood and irritating my president at the same time. A rare talent.
I keep going before anyone thinks this is soft.
“But if pretending I’m the mean biker bastard in your life keeps him from thinking you’re alone, then fine. I’ll play it.”
Amelia’s laugh dies.
Her eyes search my face. “Why?”
Because I saw your kid ask about locks.
Because you stood beside me in the rain even though your whole body wanted to run.
Because your husband looked at you like you were something he misplaced, and I wanted to break his jaw through the gate.
Because the thought of you going back there makes my hands want to commit murder.
I say none of that.
I shrug. “I’m already involved.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s around here.”
“No, it isn’t.” She steps closer to me, eyes bright. “Not for this. Not for pretending to be with me. Not for putting yourself between me and Jeremy. You don’t owe me that.”
“She’s right,” Sophie says quietly.
Traitor.
Legend watches me.
All of them do.
I hate this.
I hate feelings and eye contact and whatever the hell my chest is doing.
“My mother had men,” I say before I can decide not to. “Too many. Some useless. Some mean. Some mean and useless, which is a special kind of talent.”