“There’s not much to tell.”
I poke him in the ribs. “See?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “My parents had me late in life, and I was an only child. My dad died of a heart attack when I was eighteen. A while back, my mom developed dementia, and she’s in a nursing home outside of New Orleans.”
“Do you ever go visit her?”
“Nope.” He shoots me a glance. “Does that make me horrible?”
I’ve long ago given up trying to figure out what makes a person horrible. The truth is, most of us are just human and prone to mistakes. We can’t help ourselves, even when we hurt other people.
Instead an idea niggles in the back of my brain, and I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. “We could go visit her tomorrow.”
It’s Sunday, the slowest day of the week. We could leave in the morning and return tomorrow night.
He frowns. “I don’t think that’s going to be on any of those best-first-date-ideas lists.”
I cock a brow. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “It’s a thought.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you ever just answer a question directly?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing with you.” His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second before it releases. He meets my eyes. “You’re my habit.”
“What does that mean?” It’s probably the first revealing thing he’s said, and even that is cryptic.
He shifts away from me, looking out at the trees on the other side of the road. “I’ve got a habit of self-destructing when I find something good.”
“I see.” The words are slow, like they don’t want to come out of my mouth.
He drags a hand through his hair. “I like it here. I like the way you run things. I like Wyatt and Jackson. This place is brimming with excitement and opportunity. It’s not far from where I grew up. It feels like a place I could put down some roots. And just as sure as I’m sitting here, I will absolutely find a way to fuck it up.” He returns his attention to me, gazing directly and intently into my eyes. “And, mark my words, you will be my downfall.”
I look away, studying the grass. I rip a few blades from the ground and let them play through my fingers. He’s probably right. Especially if it’s a pattern and he’s determined to complete the circle. But it’s also true that if it’s not me, it will be something else. That’s the thing about self-destruction. You’ll find a way.
The only real question is, am I willing to be part of the sequence of events that leads to the inevitable conclusion? In the end, it won’t be worth it.
Sex and orgasms are neverreallyworth it.
But…he feels like the first thing in a long time that’s forme, that isn’t a response to something or someone else. There’s a purity in our connection. It’s about him and me, and nobody else factors into it.
The truth is, I can’t remember the last time I felt that.
I don’t want to give it up yet.
I let the grass fall from my fingertips and look at him. “So do you want to go visit your mom tomorrow, or not?”
Shadows flicker in his dark blue eyes, across the set of his mouth.
I believe he’s going to say no, so his response surprises me.
He nods. “Sure.”
“It’s settled then.”
“Can we get something to eat after?”
“Sure.”