My spirits sink and I mentally chastise myself for that.
He’s a rebound, Brynne. Re. Bound.
“Relationships mean a commitment and that means I can’t do whatever I want. Not other women, because I have no problem with monogamy. Just that I have to be responsible to that person. I can’t come and go as I please. It lends some idea to the belief that there might be more in the future, like marriage or something, and that’s all more than I’ve ever wanted to manage. I just want to work and have fun when time allows,” he shrugs, looking at me cautiously. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not at all.”
Even though I say that, it is a bad thing. Because even though he’s a rebound, a part of me really enjoyed being with him and hoped, secretly, maybe, that I would see him again after this. Really, though—I’m not sure if I could handle just seeing him occasionally.
“Why do I feel like an asshole now?” he asks.
“I have no clue,” I laugh, more to keep the conversation light than anything.
He laughs and kisses me gently, a soft, leisurely motion that stirs the butterflies in my stomach. His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb stroking my jaw, as he tries to interrupt the conversation. I let him and enjoy the sensation of being enjoyed.
“So you don’t want a girlfriend, which I understand,” I lie. “So who do you spend time with? You said before you don’t have a lot of friends either.”
“No one, really.”
The way his eyes fall makes my heart go right along with it. The loneliness is palpable, and I wonder why he chooses that, because he clearly does. Anybody would love to be around him. There’s nothing not to love.
“No one?” I whisper, treading lightly at the look on his face. “Really, Fent?”
“I didn’t have friends growing up. I was the outcast for a lot of reasons. I didn’t fit in with the other kids and they never accepted me. So I spent time by myself or with my parents.” He pauses and gazes into the distance. “My dad would take me on these hunting trips a couple of times a year. It was just me and him in the wilderness. My mom insisted we take the meat and donate it to a homeless shelter or to a tribe or whatever where we were. So we did that. Other times of the year, Mom would take me, like I told you, to the ballet and musicals and to the things she loved. I was their friend and they were a helluva lot more interesting than the kids my age, jacking off to Playboy. Not that I didn’t do that too,” he winks.
I want to wrap him up in my arms and kiss away the pain that I know is buried just under the surface. Fenton is so dynamic and social; it must be so difficult to be alone all the time. It’s heartbreaking to consider.
“So you have no family or friends at all?” I ask, praying for him to admit to an aunt or cousin or something.
He shakes his head. “Technically, I guess, but I’m not close to them in an everyday kind of way. They don’t live near me and our lives don’t really cross more than once or twice a year—if that.”
My mind immediately goes to my parents and Brady and Presley and my chest tightens for him. I can’t imagine my life without my family.
“You must be really lonely,” I say wistfully.
“I miss my parents, of course. But really,” he takes a deep breath, “I like it better this way than having someone hold me back or tie me down. And,” he grins, “There’s no one in my life that can question me. I make the rules.”
Beaming, I roll back onto my side. He looks confused and it makes me giggle.
“What?” he asks.
“Well, I just questioned you and made the rules and you followed along. Just pointing that out.”
“So?”
“So. That makes me the boss. I’m everyone’s boss’s boss,” I sigh dramatically. “That is such a powerful position.”
His laughter barrels through the room. “You may have been in charge of . . . what was his name?”
“Grant.”
“Grant, yeah. But that doesn’t mean you’re in charge of me, rudo.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” I wink. My attempt at humor dissolves and I’m picturing Grant sitting on our doorstep this morning. I hate the idea of seeing him and know I’m going to have to figure out a way to keep him away from me when I get home. The idea is draining.
“Hey,” he says, tilting my chin so I’m looking at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, I was talking to Presley earlier and she said Grant came by today.”
He stills. “Is that so?”
“That’s what she said.”
“What did he want?”
I shrug and then bring the blankets up a little higher around me. Fenton is watching me, assessing every reaction, and I try to stay completely unaffected.
“Is this normal behavior?” Fenton finally asks.
“Not really. He pops in and out at times, but I haven’t seen him in a while and . . .”