His observation makes me ponder. He’s right. When I’m with him, he asks just the right things to open me up. I came into this tonight on the defensive, too. I had no plans on revealing so much. I figured we could eat dinner, talk about the weather and current events, and be done with it.
This is what happens when you’ve never been on a date before. You have no clue what you’re supposed to do, what you should say, what the other person will say. I have no control over this moment and panic licks at my belly, reminding me that the very last thing I want to do is lose control.
I decide to ignore what he said and talk about my other favorite Katy Perry songs. “ ‘Dark Horse’ is a total favorite, too.”
He cocks a brow, looking a little arrogant, a little skeptical. It’s a good look for him. “Really.”
I nod. “And I really loved ‘Teenage Dream.’ ”
He frowns. “What?”
“Katy’s song from a few years ago. ‘Teenage Dream.’ ” God, did I love that song. I would sing it at the top of my lungs when I knew I was alone, which wasn’t often. I’d sing it in the shower, murmur it under my breath as I sat with Brenna or Mom in the car. The words just got to me, because even though I was a teenager when it came out, I was in no way close to living the teenage dream of letting a boy put his hands on me in my skintight jeans.
I yearned for something like that whenever I heard that song, even though the idea scared me to death.
“Ah yeah, I remember that song.” He smiles. “They played it to death.”
“I still love it.”
“Did they used to call you that? When you were younger?” When I frown, he continues. “Katie.”
“Oh.” I haven’t heard anyone call me that in a long time. I didn’t even put it together, that Katy Perry and I share the same first name. “Yes, when I was a child.”
“No one calls you Katie now?”
I shake my head.
“Kat?”
I wrinkle my nose.
“Kathy?”
“Ew. No.” I laugh.
“So everyone calls you Katherine.”
“Usually.”
“That seems so formal.” He studies me and his eyes seem to see everything. I don’t know whether to squirm uncomfortably or sit up straighter and let him really see me, battle scars and all, roaring into the darkness. “You look like a Katie to me.”
I like the way he says my name. His voice softens over the word, making those ever-present butterflies take flight within my belly. “You can call me that, if you want.” I can’t believe I just said that. Katie is part of before. It took forever to get everyone to break the habit. I didn’t want to be Katie Watts anymore. Everyone knew me by that name, the entire world.
I preferred Katherine. It sounded like someone else—so sophisticated, so grown-up, so unlike me. I didn’t feel like me anymore. I became someone new instead.
“I do want.” The way he says want, it’s almost . . . sexual, and sends a shiver down my spine. His expression is so serious, though there’s an unfamiliar light in his gaze, like he’s just won a magnificent prize and he’s feeling triumphant. “I like that a lot.” A pause. “Katie.”
My skin warms at the tone of his voice, the way he watches me. I could get used to this.
Who am I fooling? I am getting used to this. Too soon. He’ll hurt me if I don’t watch it. That’s what Brenna would say. She’d warn me to be cautious, to not let this man get too close.
But for once I’m tempted to let go of some of that control I keep myself so tightly cloaked in. Throw some of that caution I’m always holding on to to the wayside and just . . . see where it takes me. Where he might take me.
I want that more than anything else.
There’s nothing like a slap of reality to ruin my not-so-good intentions. I’d been on a high after my dinner with Katie. I got her to open up; I got her to be real. Our conversation might have bordered on silly—that she’s a Katy Perry fan is sort of adorable—but she was honest. She allowed me a glimpse of herself and that’s all I ever wanted.
Was I satisfied with only that? No. I’m a selfish bastard. Now that I’ve had a taste, been given that tantalizing glimpse, I want another one. I want to get closer. I want her open and raw and completely willing to give me everything that I want.
Which is her.
It’s the morning after our dinner and I’m eager to text her even though it’s barely eight o’clock. Ridiculous. I need to be patient, take my time. Rushing gets me nowhere, and I need to remember that. If I come on too strong I might freak her out, and that could be detrimental to our tentative friendship.
I’m at the local post office, where I keep a secret P.O. box, one for a certain William Monroe. He doesn’t exist any longer, I’d made sure of that, but right before I had my name legally changed, I purchased a P.O. box with my William Monroe ID. Just in case, I told myself. I figured it was the best way to allow my father to contact me without him discovering the new me. He has no idea where I really live, or that I’ve changed my name.