I took his hand and swung my leg over the bike.
Instead of going through the front door, Con tugged me along around the side. He reached over a section of the wooden stockade fence and flicked a latch.
I glanced around nervously, looking for some indication that we were allowed to be here. The lack of “Beware of Dog” signs was heartening at least.
“Are we breaking and entering? Because I’m on my lunch hour. I don’t really have time for jail at the moment.”
“It’d be the parish prison, sweetheart.” He pushed open the fence, and the mouthwatering aroma of barbeque connected with my olfactory receptors. “But either way, the only thing you need to worry about right now is whether you prefer ribs or chicken.”
And then that mouthwatering aroma made me want to vomit. I grabbed his arm and squeezed my eyes shut. “I can’t.”
Con stopped, swung the gate back shut, and turned on me. “You need to quit telling me ‘you can’t’ without any other kind of explanation. It really fucking pisses me off.”
I wrapped my arms around my middle, and my mind raced for a good excuse. Something…anything but the truth.
Con’s callused fingers tilted my chin up, and I was forced to meet his stare.
“Just fucking tell me what your deal is. Are you trying to be difficult? I know you can be a righteous bitch, but over ribs and chicken? Or is it me? Are you really so much better than me that you can’t sit at the same table and share a meal?”
At that, something flashed in his eyes. I remembered the angry boy sitting alone at a lunch table in our prep school. The foster kid. The boy who solved every problem with his fists. The chip on his shoulder may have shrunk slightly, but the habit of lashing out at anyone who thought they were better than him hadn’t completely disappeared.
“It’s not you. I swear.”
His eyes narrowed on me.
“Then what?”
I tugged my chin out of his grip and looked away. I couldn’t look him in the eye when I confessed.
God. Why was I going to tell him? Because I hate having him look at me and assume I’m a stuck up bitch who thinks she’s better than him.
The words came out in a big mumble.
“What? Was that Cajun? Because I didn’t catch a word of it.”
Once again his big hand lifted my chin. “I have issues with eating in front of people.”
Confusion washed over his features, and his eyes turned hard. “That’s a damn lie. And a stupid one.”
My mouth would have dropped open if Con’s hand wasn’t holding it up. Seriously? I finally share something incredibly personal and embarrassing with him, and I get…that?
I shook my head and spun, stalking back toward the bike. I’d grab my purse out of the saddlebags and call a damn cab.
I didn’t make it more than two steps before Con grabbed me by the arm and backed me up against the house.
“Now wait just a minute.”
I struggled against his hold. “Let me go.”
Con didn’t loosen his grip. “I watched you eat while sitting next to that slick fucker, Titan. So don’t lie to me.”
“But that was a salad!”
The angry edge faded, and once again confusion reigned over his features. “What the fuck does salad have to do with anything?”
“Fat girls can eat salad in public without being judged. It’s like a rule!”
“What?” Con reared his head back before staring down at me. “Princess, I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror, but you ain’t fat. You’ve got the kind of body a man wants to grab hold of and never let go.”
I exhaled and dropped my head back. Before it could connect with the brick wall, Con’s hand was there, protectively cupping it, bringing our bodies flush.
“Careful.”
Our proximity made it nearly impossible to explain what I needed to, but I did it anyway. “Look, I was big as a kid, and my mother never let me forget it. She was a Nazi about everything I was allowed to eat. Other kids had moms who baked cookies; mine made sure I had seaweed crisps. Sure, it was all under the guise of being ‘healthy,’ but she was as much of a perfectionist as anyone you’ve ever met ... and I wasn’t perfect. It didn’t matter how many laps I ran, or how many ‘healthy’ diets she put me on, I was the chubby kid. Food became the enemy.” I shuddered. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have someone judge you for what you put on your plate. Knowing that they’re thinking should she really be eating that at her size? Hell, you know they’re thinking it because you’ve heard them say it behind your back.” I thought about the pizza incident at Madeline’s birthday party, and…I took a deep breath and shared it with Con.