“I’m sorry,” Lauren said now, her soft voice pulling him back up from the memories. “That must’ve been really hard, to hear that from your own father. You deserved to be treated with love and support, not kicked out.”
“It’s funny,” he said, “because I say the same thing all the time to these teens I counsel through a crisis text line once a week. They’re twelve, thirteen, sixteen years old, and wondering how to come out or how to ask their parents about transitioning or what to do about bullying at school. And I try to listen to their problems, validate their experiences, remind them that they’re worthy. But sometimes I wish I could get on a direct line with their parents or their peers or whoever, and just say, do you have any idea how much this kid cares? How much they internalize your words, how much they want to please you, how much thought they’ve given to trying to figure out who they are and how they fit into the world? Can’t you just for one fucking second listen to them, and tell them that they’re worthy, so that they hear it from you?”
His eyes were burning, and he scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to unclench his jaw. “Obviously, there are also lots of people out there who have beautiful stories of support and acceptance. We don’t tend to see as many of them through the crisis line, so my data set is a little skewed here. Elliot’s parents have a cake delivered to the house every year on the anniversary of when Elliot came out to them. And it’s Publix buttercream, so you know that shit’s real love.”
Lauren smiled. “You’re really fortunate to have found Elliot, and Kiki, and John. They seem like great friends.”
“The best,” Asa said. “Whose turn is it? I’ve lost track.”
“Yours,” she said. “But we can stop, if you want. It’s late.”
He’d already tapped the button for a new randomly generated number, and he held up his phone to show her the six on the screen. “And miss a chance to get a compliment? No way. Tell me something good about myself.”
She compressed her bottom lip with her teeth, as if thinking. He didn’t know if she even realized how close she was sitting to him by now. If he turned at all they’d be practically nose to nose.
“Don’t be so quick with it,” he said dryly. “I’ll get a big head.”
“You smell really good,” she blurted, then covered her face with her hands, like she needed to physically retreat from the words. But he wasn’t about to let her off that easily. He lifted his arm, giving it a sniff.
“Do I?”
“It’s your soap or something,” she said. “It’s not even really a compliment to you. More like a compliment to the products you use. Tell me what kind of soap it is and I’ll leave the company a really nice online review.”
“I know that trick. You want the name so you can buy it for yourself and smell me all the time.”
“I’m not going to buy it—”
“You want to carve a little soap doll of me. It’s sick. I refuse to feed this obsession.”
“More like a voodoo doll, and I know right where I’d stick the first pin.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth in an O, like she only just heard what she’d said and was shocked by her own words. He mirrored the expression right back at her, although he was laughing.
“Damn,” he said. “Okay. I’ll behave my good-smelling self.”
She rolled her eyes, although a smile tugged at her own mouth. “I knew I should’ve just told you I admired your ice skating skills.”
“Whoa.” He turned toward her, holding his hands up in a gesture of wait just a minute there. “Is that a slam on my earlier compliment? Because that was genuine, I’ll have you know. I thought it was really cool that you took the time to give that family a perfect memory. Very un-robot-like.”
“It was quite a nice compliment,” she said with a tilt of her chin. “I appreciated it.”
But he thought he understood. Her compliment to him had left her feeling vulnerable. It wasn’t just about him but about her reaction to him. He had plenty of those kinds of compliments, too. He just hadn’t known if she would welcome one.
Well, here went nothing.
“You look incredibly hot in that dress,” he said.
“Really?” Her voice pitched up in a squeak.
He’d been aiming for a matter-of-fact tone but didn’t quite know if he’d achieved it. If he were talking about a painting in a museum, or a sunset over the beach, he’d be able to talk about it without getting weird, right? He should be able to tell Lauren how the vibrant red of the dress looked against her pale skin, how sexy her delicate ankle bone was where she’d crossed her bare feet, how her mouth . . . her perfect mouth . . .
Was saying something. He mentally shook himself and tried to tune back in.
“I feel stupid for even wearing it,” she said, smoothing down the red skirt. “I know tonight was never going to be a date. Not really.”
“Lauren.” At this point it wasn’t even about playing a game, it was about helping her see the facts that should’ve been in neon lights right in front of her face. “You’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful. Yesterday I would’ve said your best bet to get Daniel’s head out of his ass long enough to notice it would’ve been to glue his phone to your forehead. But tonight . . .” He let his gaze drop to the small swell of her breasts under the red fabric, the slight gap that opened up between the neckline and her skin when she took a shallow breath. When he looked up again, her eyes were two bright, black sparks.
“Tonight I would say that your best bet is definitely that dress.”
Chapter
Thirteen
You’re always beautiful. Asa had definitely outdone himself with the compliments, and it hadn’t even been his turn to give any. But it was the throwaway tone to his voice when he’d said that particular one that made her actually believe it.
And there was that flare in his eyes as he’d looked her over. It was hard not to believe that, too.
She was attracted to Asa Williamson. She didn’t know exactly when it had happened—probably sometime around when she was sniffing him in the break room—but there it was. And for the first time, she thought maybe there was a chance that he reciprocated the feeling.
Then again, she’d misjudged this kind of thing before.
“Why didn’t you kiss me?” she asked.
Immediately, she wished there were a randomly generated number that would allow her to shove the words back down her throat. Especially when his eyes searched her face, a line creasing his forehead. He had no idea what she was talking about. He probably didn’t even remember. He’d blocked it from his memory . . .
“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he said.
She swallowed. Now that she’d gone this far out on this limb, she supposed she might as well inch out a little more. “There was mistletoe,” she said. “It’s like . . . a rule.”
“You never struck me as a stickler for Christmas tradition.”
He was right, of course. The year before, she’d railed against Secret Santa, of all things. She couldn’t be surprised when he then assumed she’d want nothing to do with something as silly and inappropriate as kissing under the mistletoe. She was sorry she’d brought it up.
“I’m a stickler for most things,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “In case you hadn’t noticed. Like I just realized I broke the rules of our game by asking that question, so please. Disregard it.”
“What if I want to regard it?”
Lauren’s gaze met his before skittering away. She had no idea what he meant by that, was scared to even consider the possibilities. Time to climb down from this tree.
“It’s seriously late,” she said. “And we both have work tomorrow . . . which is a little ironic, since we’re currently at work.”
He rubbed his hands on his jean-clad thighs. They were sitting close enough that the motion ruffled the hem of her skirt a little, caused it to flip up and reveal the barest extra millimeter of skin. It was such a micro movement, and yet Lauren noticed it. Somehow, she knew Asa had, too.
“You got an unauthorized question,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s only fair if I get one.”
She lifted her chin. “Fine. In the interest of fairness.”