My eyebrows rise at this. She’s not as tough inside as she wants or needs to be. This isn’t the life she chose, it was forced on her, but by whom or what? I remind myself that the answers to those questions don’t matter. I’ve been where she is. Hell, I’m right there now. All that matters is who she is and who she’s going to be. Same as me. And yet for all of my talk of the present and future, the past is an anchor I can’t cut loose, dragging along behind me. Her past—like mine—sits in the booth with us, an invisible presence both of us can feel. The only difference is that she knows mine, but I don’t know hers.
If I could change one thing it would be for what happened to me to be as unknown to her as what happened to her is to me.
“Should I get a gun?”
Her eyes widen a fraction. She’s surprised by how all-in I am. Oddly, I’m not. When I told her I’d do my best at the agency office, I wasn’t being glib. It wasn’t just a line. I am all-in here.
“Have you ever shot one?” she asks.
“No.”
“I hadn’t either, until a couple years ago.”
“Maybe you can show me how it’s done.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
The waitress brings our meals. I frown over Vera ordering off the kids’ menu. I should’ve told her I was going to pay, but I have a feeling if I had she still would’ve ordered the same thing. She’s quiet while we eat, the front of her hair falling forward to conceal her eyes. It’s a trick she does when she’s avoiding answering or trying not to be noticed. I can openly study her when she hides like this. I don’t miss any opportunity to look at her.
There’s a pinprick-sized dent just below the left side of her lower lip where a piercing used to be. There’s another one on her left nostril and two near her right eyebrow. She wears no earrings now, but both ears were once filled with them. I bet if she stuck her tongue out there’d be an abandoned hole in it as well. Where else has she been pierced? My dick suddenly comes to attention at the question.
It’s been so damn long since I’ve done anything but jerk off, I’d begun to wonder if my dick even worked without self-stimulation. Prison didn’t exactly make me horny, and living with my sister has made it almost impossible to get off. I hide my glad smirk in a bite of burger and thank God prison didn’t take that away from me too.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
Shit. Busted. “I was wondering if your tongue is also pierced.”
“And that’s funny?”
“My mind sort of drifted downward from there.” I shake my head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business.”
She sets her sandwich down and wipes her mouth on her napkin, taking her time, making me feel like a total and complete asshole. Her gaze is steady and even on mine as she takes a sip of water and swallows. She pokes her tongue out between her lips and flattens it so I can see that yes, indeed, it is pierced and missing its barbell. My chest goes tight. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Her tongue slips back into her mouth, curling a little at the tip just before it disappears.
“Both nipples and two on my clit,” she says.
Holy. Fuck.
For a second I think she might actually show me, but then she picks up her sandwich again and takes a bite. I don’t recognize the look in her eyes. They’ve gone sort of blank, with a sheer coating of defiance and anger. That look scares the shit out of me. I’m ashamed at how I got her to share something she so clearly didn’t want me to know. My dick throbs in time with the hard, fast beat of my heart. There’s a whooshing in my ears and my dinner threatens to come up.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer out.
“Anything else you want to know?”
“No.”
“Can I ask you something, then?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Do you want to fuck me?”
Her question is forced and ugly, matching her hard, cold stare. The crudity of her question is a slap in the face. How did this get so out of control? I don’t know what to say. It’s clear she expects me to come up with something. Is this some kind of test?
Do I want to fuck her? The answer isn’t a simple yes or no. It’s complicated and as fucked-up as I am.
Do I want to fuck her? I want to want to fuck her. But how would that sound if I said it out loud?
Do I want to fuck her? God, yes. Give me a reason. Give me something. Hell, no. Take away my memories of the only woman I’ve ever been with, the only woman I’ve ever loved.
The answer should be easy. I’m a guy. Guys think about sex. Guys want sex with hot women. A hot woman is offering me sex. But all I can come up with is “Do you want to fuck me?”
Her head jerks back, eyes widen, lips part. Tossing her bold question back at her shocks her. The air between us fizzles and sparks. All of the hair on my body stands on end and a shiver runs up my spine. She leans toward me, studying me like she’s just seeing me for the first time, like she doesn’t already know too much about me. It was a test, and I somehow passed. Our meals forgotten, we take in the new boundaries of our fledgling relationship or whatever it is that’s happening between us.
I’m as astounded as she is. I slide my hand across the table and take her hand. It’s small in mine. Her fingers are long and slim and cold. She doesn’t pull away or break eye contact, almost as though she willed me to touch her and I finally obeyed.
She breaks the silence. “You’re not what I expected. Not at all.”
“Neither are you.”
“Is that a good thing?”
I nod.
“I’m not really that brave.”