“I tell you everything that has to do with you. I’m not going to bore you with my job.”
“What if I’m interested? What if I want to get to know you better? That’s what we’re supposed to be doing, isn’t it?” I point out.
“Keep asking me questions and I might have to fill your mouth with my cock.”
“I might like that.”
He chuckles, running his hand through my hair. “I had a really good time today.”
“Me too,” I yawn. “It was a lot of fun. Presley and I used to go there a lot last summer.”
“I’ve never been to a concert before.”
“What?” I gasp, watching him laugh at my reaction. “Seriously?”
“Not one. I liked it though. We should do that more often.”
“So, you just decided today we’d go to a concert?”
He grins. “Presley might’ve given me a pointer or two.”
“That worries me.” I feign concern, making his grin grow wider. “She can be a lunatic.”
“I can see that. The first thing she suggested . . .”
I slap my palm to my forehead. “Did it involve anal?”
He bursts into laughter and I sit up, watching his face light up.
“It did, didn’t it? I’m going to kill her.”
“I told her I didn’t think you were ready for that.”
“I’ll never be ready for that,” I laugh. “It’s not my thing.”
“Scaredy cat?”
“Totally. That’s an out. Not an in. I just . . .” I shiver, twisting myself around to lie beside him.
He rolls onto his side and faces me. Like always, his hands drops across my mid-section and I realize it’s his habit. And I know him well enough now to know his habits. That makes me giddy.
“What else scares you?” he asks thoughtfully.
I shrug. “Sexually or in other areas?”
“Either way.”
I consider his question. “I’m scared of snakes. And of dying in dark water,” I reply. “Both things make me want to pass out. When I was a little girl I was sure that quicksand was going to play a bigger role in my life and that stuff still freaks me out.”
“Quicksand? Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously! Have you ever seen Indiana Jones? Brady and I practiced hopping on pillows for weeks after that, just getting ready for the inevitable.”
“You continue to surprise me.”
“Quicksand shouldn’t surprise you. That stuff is dangerous.”
He re-grips my side, his palm pressing harder into my skin. “What else scares you, Brynne?”
A heaviness rolls over my chest, a seriousness that comes out nowhere. It feels right, though, to open up to him. To tell him my fears. To let him see a part of me I don’t let many people see.
“I’m scared of failing. Whether it be at a board game or at school or at life. I just want to do the best I can and always think people will laugh at me if I go for something and it doesn’t work out.”
I look at the ceiling, both afraid he’s already laughing at me and trying to find some inspiration.
“I’m scared of being weak, of not being strong enough to handle what life throws at me. That I’ll crumble under the pressure and let everyone down. I’m scared of being optimistic,” I continue, the words flowing from me, setting me free. Like an actor on stage getting over his jitters, the words pouring from me is cathartic. “I’m afraid to try to put too much stock in anyone or anything because I figure the next shoe is going to drop at any second. Like something bad is just waiting to devastate me.”
“That’s a shitty way to live.”
I shrug. “I’m learning to live with it. I’ve always had a little anxiety, but after this past year, it just got worse. So now I find myself waiting on the next thing to come along and knock me out.”
He drags me closer, burrowing his face in my hair. I love having him so close to me, feeling like he’d protect me from anything. That he could protect me.
“But, Fent, you make me happy.”
He presses a long, lingering kiss into the side of my head. I snuggle against him more.
“You make me happy too,” he whispers, his voice a little shaky.
“Do I?”
“You have no idea.”
“Good.”
I twist in his arms and rearrange us so that my arms are around him. We lie like that for a long time, the only sound our breathing and the fountain trickling in the corner. I begin to drift off when I hear his voice.
“Brynne?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, fighting to keep my eyes open. Despite my attempts, they grow heavier and heavier.
“I want to talk to you for a minute.”
“Okay . . .” I accept the fact that my eyes are going to have to stay closed, the relief in not trying to hold open the heavy lids is bliss.
He blows out a heavy, defeated breath and I struggle to come out of my twilight.
“I really want to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Okay.” But I don’t move. I figure he can talk and I’ll listen while I’m snuggled up.
“Can you sit up?”
“Yeah . . .” But I don’t. Instead, I drift off into a dream about a woman with an elephant necklace.