He continued, “You asked, you got. Now I ask.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Told me you don’t got a Mom or a Dad. No grandparents. You got any people?”
I shook my head.
“None?” he pushed.
I kept shaking my head but affirmed, “None.”
“How can you have no people?”
“I do. Ronnie’s family.”
“They aren’t your people.”
“Yes, Ty, they are.”
He held my eyes.
Then he asked, “They raise you?”
“Kind of.”
“Not an answer, Lexie.”
I blew out a sigh.
Then I pulled my knees to my belly, wrapped my arm around them and told him my story.
Or parts of it.
“My Mom and Dad died when I was young. Long story. My Dad’s parents died when he was sixteen. Car crash. My Gran died when I was six and Granddad when I was thirteen. My Dad had a sister but by the time Granddad died, well… let’s just say, I was a handful and she didn’t want any part of that so she didn’t take any part of it. Obviously, because of that, although she lives in Dallas, I don’t see her and when I say that, I mean ever. Life was shit for me, Granddad wasn’t all that great, I was thirteen, acting out and just needed someone to give a shit. She didn’t. I got put into a home for girls then was farmed out into foster care. Foster care took me to a new school, I met Bessie, Ronnie’s sister, we became BFFs something, by the way, we still are. They lived in what could be considered one step up from the Projects and that was a small step but, trust me, no matter how fucked up that was, their home was better than foster care. So I spent a lot of time there. My foster carers still got paid so they didn’t give a shit where I spent my time and ate my meals. Ronnie’s Dad took off, whereabouts still unknown so he grew up watching his Mom struggle to put food on the table and spending most of his time avoiding local boys who were trying to recruit him into a gang. He was also the man of the family. He took that seriously but, obviously, didn’t do it smart. As far as he was concerned, there were two ways to take care of his women. One, the NBA. Two, what he ended up doing. Problem with that was, Ella wanted not one thing to do with money earned the way he earned it. This caused dissension. I was the link that kept this dissension from going into meltdown. Ella never took any of Ronnie’s money but at least I managed to keep him in the family fold. And I was definitely part of the family fold and would have been even if I ended things with Ronnie. We broke it off, I would have got his family, not him and when he died none of that changed so, seeing as that’s the way and the fact that they were the only real family I knew, they’re my people.”
When I quit talking, Ty just stared at me and said not a word.
So I asked, “Are we done with give and take?”
“Yeah,” he answered but his eyes didn’t move back to the TV and the way he was staring at me, as normal, impassive but yet I still felt the intensity of his stare, my eyes didn’t move either.
This also made me prompt, “What?”
“I don’t get it,” he replied.
I felt my brows draw together and I repeated, “What?”
He looked to the TV muttering, “Nothin’.”
“Ty,” I called and he didn’t look at me but still I repeated, “What?” He continued not to look at me so I asked, “What don’t you get?”
Then his eyes sliced to me and he proceeded without hesitation to rock my world.
“You’re part-goof all class. Never walked in a room, any room, with a woman on my arm, any woman, who’s got your looks, your style, the kinda beauty you got and the light that shines from you. So I don’t get it. I don’t get how a woman leads a life full of shit and comes out of it bein’ part-goof and all class. That shit’s impossible but there you fuckin’ are. Part-goof, all class.”
I felt my breath coming fast but managed to whisper, “I’m not part-goof.”
“You’re right. I was bein’ nice. You’re a total goof.”
“Am not.”
“Babe, you call me ‘hubby’,” he pointed out but my breath came faster because he called me “babe” again.
“You are my hubby.”
“No one says hubby,” he told me.
“I do,” I told him.
“All right, I’ll rephrase. No one but a goof says hubby.”
“Is that written in stone somewhere?”
“It should be.”
“So, you don’t like it.”
At that, his body twisted minutely in my direction, his chin dipped down a half a centimeter, his eyes locked with mine and I quit breathing.
And his voice was a very low rumble when he stated, “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
“Okay,” I breathed.
“I like it.” He kept rumbling.
“Okay,” I repeated breathily.
“You’re still a fuckin’ goof.”
I kept silent.