I needed to step things up.
Comfortable and cozy was not hot or amazing or addictive. It was…comfortable and cozy. I was Boner’s old lady now, and I knew he genuinely liked me and wanted me. We certainly had a hefty dose of chemistry between us, but how long would that last now that we were actually together? Would the fascination, the zing between us fade, like it usually did in the other few relationships I’d had?
I didn’t want him to regret the decision to claim me as his old lady that he’d made in a blaze of testosterone. But I also didn’t want him to treat me like some girl on a pedestal and then sneak off with some biker groupie to let loose and feel free.
“Jill, should we lower the TV? You think it’s too loud, and Rae and Becs might wake up?”
Rae and Becca had fallen asleep together on a Dora the Explorer television marathon in Rae’s bedroom.
“I already lowered it. Stop worrying. They’re out for the rest of the night,” I said. “Anyway, I put the baby monitor in Rae’s room, just in case, so we’ll hear them if they wake up.”
He winked at me, a sly grin lighting his face. “Smart move, Firefly.” He drained his beer.
I let out a laugh. “God, I feel like we’re teenagers.”
He adjusted my legs over his. “What do you mean?”
“You know, the girl and her boyfriend are watching TV while the mom and dad are in the other room. And they’re holding hands—”
“The mom and the dad?”
“No, Bone, the boy and girl. They’re holding hands, or he has his arm around her shoulder, and they can’t help themselves. Slowly, slowly, they start touching, exploring body parts, kissing, sucking on each other’s tongues, sneaking hands into shirts and fingers down pants, holding in their groans and moans, desperately trying to stay quiet. You know…”
His eyes squinted. His forehead puckered. He needed a translation but didn’t know how to ask for one.
“You’ve never done that?” I asked.
“No. But right now, I’m kinda stuck on the way you said ‘sucking.’” He grinned as he fed me a couple of kernels of buttery popcorn.
Of course he hadn’t ever done that. From what little I knew of his past, he had always been on his own and out in the big, bad world. He’d probably never dated, never went to a girl’s house and got introduced to the mom and dad and dealt with that horrifying and mystical combination of sexual tension coated with a hard shell of parental disapproval and apprehension. No, he’d always gotten what he wanted, when he wanted, charged in and took it, or it landed into his lap with no doubts and no holds barred.
I licked the salt off my lips. “You never went out on dates in high school?”
“Never went on dates.” He kissed the side of my mouth. “Never finished high school.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Did something happen that you didn’t finish high school?”
He returned his attention to the TV and tossed more popcorn into his mouth. “I had a job.” He stared straight ahead, his teeth grinding on some small hard kernel of corn.
“Was it a good job then?” I asked.
“Pay was real good.”
“I don’t mean to force you into telling me about yourself.” I took a handful of popcorn from the bowl. “The past is the past. I know that better than most.”
“I don’t talk about it. Ever. With anyone. We’re together now though. You should be able to ask me what you want to ask me.”
“Okay. Well, I don’t know what your real name is, and I’d like to.”
He held my gaze, a pained look passing over his face, as if he were the President of the United States, about to deliver heavy news to the nation.
“Santiago.”
Light filtered through the cracks in my heart. A strain of guitar strings roused me.
“Santiago,” I said, enjoying the, exotic unexpected sounds tumbling from my lips. “That’s beautiful. Spanish?”
“My parents were from Argentina.”
“Argentina? Is Giddon your real last name?”
He shook his head. “Arana.”
“Santiago Arana,” I whispered.
“My parents had just gotten married, and my mom’s brother brought them to Denver where he lived, so they could chase their piece of the American dream.”
“Where did Boner come from? I’m assuming it’s because of your very generous—”
He let out a small grunt. “I was thin as a kid, and whenever I got a hard-on, which was pretty often, it would be way fucking obvious.” His tongue swiped at his lower lip, his eyes shifting away. “That’s what I tell people.” His voice was low, his eyes almost pleading with me.
Or were they testing the waters of my reaction?
I reached out past the pleading look and into the unsure sea of green, the choppy waters being held at bay.
“That’s the funny story, the easy one, right?” I asked, my voice just above a whisper. “But it’s not the real story?”
He only shook his head.
My throat stung. “Tell me the real story.”