The chocolate cake reminds me I'm not Rose. She wasn't allowed sweets or pasta. Action movies weren't an option either, yet here I am sitting on the couch with a beautiful man watching John McClane interfere with the bad guys' well thought out plan.
Troy is sexier than before my nap. I don't know how this is possible, but his eyes look bluer and his skin more golden. Sitting at one end while he rests on the other, I imagine reaching over to touch his hair. Fortunately, my mind prevents me from doing something so stupid.
Every time, I try to settle down, Troy stands to check the security cameras. I watch him leave and stare at the doorway until he returns. The third time he returns, Troy sits on the couch closer to me.
"Hello," he says, smirking at how I'm staring at his proximity.
My frown causes his smile to widen. A moment passes before I feel myself smiling too.
"Thanks for dinner," I mutter, hiding my grin.
"Thank your rich brother-in-law for paying all the bills."
"I will."
"You like him?"
"Vernon is a good man."
"You mean good at being rich."
Leaning my head back on the couch, I stare at the ceiling. "He's a good husband and father. He's generous and patient."
"Are you planning to get a sugar daddy like your sister?"
"Maybe. I don't have the skills to get a job capable of taking care of all my expenses. Therapy, security, food, snacks, and desserts all cost money I don't have."
"You don't need a dull weenie like Vern. A lot of better men can pay for all that shit."
"Why are you crapping on Vern? Did he give you a silly nickname?"
Troy leans over until I can feel his breath on my skin. "Are you teasing me?"
Refusing to look at him, I smile. "I don't know why you're ragging on Vernon when he's harmless to a man like you."
"He could pay a man like me to kill me. That's what he did to Locke. Money gives him power."
"So why ask me if I want a sugar daddy when the answer is clear?"
Troy reaches out to remove hair from my cheek. His touch is like a jolt of electricity, sending me off the couch. Stumbling, I end up on the ground. He moves to help me, but sees my expression and backs off. Or maybe he's horrified by my stupidity. I can't be sure what he's thinking when I'm so overloaded by my own wild moods.
Leaning forward to take his bottle of water, Troy casually sits farther down the couch to give me more room.
"I might be a pushy bastard, but I'm not blind to the way crap can get into a person's head and let it confuse them."
My hands wrap into fists as I struggle to get my ass off the ground. I don't want to be this frightened thing. All I have to do is return to the couch, and Troy will allow me to pretend I hadn't freaked out. Yet I remain glued to the floor.
"When I was a kid, I was headed for the big leagues," Troy says without looking at me. "At least, that's what people said. Playing baseball, I could hit anything. Turn even weak throws into home runs. This was a big deal for me. See, my brother has always been hot shit. He aced his tests. He never has a bad day. Even now, he's a decorated Navy man with a wife who always smiles. I'm not even sure she has another facial expression. No one believes me, but I swear his kids were born smiling. Creepy shit, trust me."
Smiling under my hair, I scoot closer to the couch.
"Baseball was the one thing I was better at than Kevin. He didn't hate me for it, but I liked to pretend he did. I really resented his ease at life. Living in someone's shadow isn't easy. Everyone in my family made me feel small. My dad is a retired Navy SEAL. My uncles are Navy SEALs. My aunt competed in sharp shooting at the Olympics. I come from a stock heavy with alphas, so getting any traction in life felt tricky."
Troy pauses to gulp his water. I take advantage of his attention being elsewhere to scoot closer to the couch and rest against the leather fabric.
"I loved the cracking sound of the bat striking the ball. The sound still gives me a shiver when I hear it, but I haven't played in a decade."
Watching him from under my hair, I imagine him as an all-American kid playing baseball. I see people cheering for him hitting all those home runs. He must have been quite a sight.
"My mom was killed in a drunk driving accident," Troy says, killing my smile. Though his voice remains devoid of emotion, I'm saddened by his loss.
"I wish I could say the drunk was the other guy, but it was Mom who ran an innocent person off the road before she ended up in a ditch. Thankfully, the other driver was only mildly injured. After Mom died, I couldn't hit the ball again. Got the yips and missed even easy hits. Dad sent me to a shrink, but it didn't help. I played for a few more years, but a ball player who can't hit a ball is pretty useless. Unless he's a pitcher, of course."
Getting the joke, I smile. Not that Troy can see it with me hidden under my hair.
"So it's not really the same thing," he continues, "but I understand how things can get twisted up inside you. No amount of happy thoughts or therapy can fix it either."