Текст книги "Things Liars Hide"
Автор книги: Sara Ney
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 8 страниц)
I lean against my shiny stainless steel oven, arms crossed as I blatantly stare at Cal’s sister from across the kitchen of my new condo. I’m half listening to something my childhood friend Dex is saying, and my narrowed eyes bore into Tabitha Thompson as she tucks a loose, dark blonde strand of hair behind her ear, then tips her head back to laugh.
Her throat is tan and graceful and smooth.
Just how I remember it.
Damn, I bet she smells good, too.
Casual in jeans and a plain black tee shirt, there is no mistaking the resemblance between Tabitha and her brother now that they’re in the same room together. Both tall with dirty blonde hair, they share the same bright blue eyes and height; but where Cal is hard and rugged—rough around the edges—sporting a perpetual black eye and scarred lip from rugby, Tabitha is all feminine curves and delicate features.
When I said she had a bony ass two weeks ago, I was full of shit.
She’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
She writes sleazy romance novels and works for a construction company.
She called me ridiculously good looking—ridiculously good looking. What does that even mean?
I continue observing her, waiting for her attraction towards me to manifest itself in some way—a flirty glance in my direction, a coy smile. Shit, I’ll settle for eye contact.
She’s giving me nothing.
If Tabitha Thompson is attracted to me, she sure as shit hides it better than most; she’s been avoiding me like the plague since stepping her high-heeled feet through the front door of my condo.
I have to give her props; she’s stealthy, that one. I’m talking expert-level evasion. My condo isn’t large, but somehow she’s managed to elude me like the fiercest competitor in a game of Mortal Kombat.
Not to brag, but I’m fucking great at that video game. I will Level 300 that shit against any thirteen-year-old and kick their tech-savvy ass. Oh, Mortal Kombat doesn’t have levels, you say? Tough shit. It does when I play—I’m so badass I make levels.
It’s been one week since I bumped into her writing at Blooming Grounds, and two weeks since Grey and I ran into her shopping. But since her arrival at my housewarming party, she’s been dodging me, pretending not to be affected by my presence.
Like right now, for example, Tabitha is bearing down on the snack table, staring at the sandwiches and loading up on nachos like she’s a waitress in a bar, and it’s her job. She’s probably not even going to eat any of it; she just doesn’t want to turn around and acknowledge me.
As if I wouldn’t notice her reluctance to be in the same room. I enter a room, she exits. I move through a room, she crosses to the other side. Cat and mouse.
In my own damn house.
Shit, now she has me rhyming.
This little game of hide and seek is driving me fucking nuts.
“Are you even listening?” An elbow meets my ribcage, jarring me momentarily. Finally nodding at something Dex is saying beside me, I turn towards Cal and rejoin their conversation.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
My sister’s boyfriend tracks my movement, looking over at his sister and then at me. He briefly pauses before responding. “I asked Dex if he was coming with you to my match against Purdue in two weeks. He said no.”
Dex pulls at the preppy bowtie around his throat. “Can’t. My sisters have a thing.”
He has sixteen-year-old twin sisters.
“High school musical opening night,” he explains. “Shouldn’t be too bad. This year they’re doing…”
Nodding absentmindedly, I stop listening to watch Tabitha out of the corner of my eye. She leans against the far wall of my living room, balancing a monster plate of chips and veggies while smiling at something my aunt Cindy and cousin Stella are saying. At that moment, her tongue darts out between cherry-red lips to lick the corner of her mouth.
My eyes are riveted.
“Alright, let’s cut the crap,” Cal’s deep voice interrupts, along with another quick jab to my ribcage. “What’s going on between you and my sister?”
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t mince words. “Bullshit. I’ve been watching you watch her try to get away from you all night.”
Strangely enough, I understand every word he just said. And since he brought it up, I might as well ask. “Yeah, what is up with that?”
I cross my arms over my chest resentfully, still staring at Tabitha.
“Okay, I get it now.” Cal tips back his beer and swallows hard. “No wonder she didn’t want to come.”
My head whips around. “What the hell does that mean?”
The bastard laughs drolly. “Grey had to practically force her.”
“Why?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Because. I guess she’s still embarrassed about accusing Greyson of cheating on me with you or some shit. We had to pull out the big guns to get her here.”
For fuck’s sake. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means we had to fucking bribe her to come. We knew at some point you’d have to see each other again, and figured she might as well get it over with. Grey swore she’d come home for a girls’ night out with Tab’s friends. Oh—we also promised her she didn’t have to talk to you tonight.” He tenderly traces two fingers over his left eye, which is blackened by a fresh bruise and stitched up with black thread. “Still, we literally had to shove her into my truck. I felt like a goddamn kidnapper, minus a disturbing lurker van.”
Lovely.
But can I point something out? Two weeks ago she called me ridiculously good looking—not to mention, she was totally checking me out at Target. Damn straight she was. Which means she’s attracted to me.
Like I’m going to forget that little factoid anytime soon. Not a chance.
Cal taunts, “I mean—just look at her trying to avoid you and shit.”
He’s right. Tabitha skulks from the snack table to the bookshelf on the far wall of my living room, balancing her loaded plate in one hand and running the other along the wooden shelves. She trails the tips of her fingers across a leather-bound volume of Walt Whitman, then all the way over to a copy of Divergent.
She pops a chip in her mouth, chewing slowly, and stands rigidly, studying the contents of my collection—which isn’t that extensive. I’m not a big reader or anything, but I have a few good ones, most of them gifts from my mom, who’s always tried to get me to read more. And play Sudoku. Improve my “brain function,” like I have all the time in the world for word puzzles and shit.
Also propped on the bookshelf, dead center on the middle shelf not far from where Tabitha is lingering, is her novel, faced out and eye level. All she has to do is take three dainty steps to her left. Three tiny steps or one hundred and sixty degrees to her left, and she’d see it.
Right there, in front of her beautiful face.
I raise the beer bottle in my hand to my lips, sipping with a wide smirk when Tabitha turns her back to the books. Yup, I’m confident she doesn’t know I have her paperback proof. Her naughty, naughty little novel, all marked up with edits and comments.
I can hardly wait to finish reading the damn thing.
Then tell her about it.
Man, she is going to be pissed.
A sick part of me is disappointed, wanting her to turn back around and notice the book; it would force her to confront me. And yeah, it’s kind of a dick move to keep it and display it out in the open where anyone could see it, put two and two together—but what are the odds of that happening? Slim to none.
It must be important. And yes, I realize I have to eventually return it, but seriously, what fun would it be to just hand it over?
No. I’m going to make her work for it.
Does that make me a sick bastard, or what?
B lare could hardly believe she was seeing him again. She actually wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. Unfortunately for her, she was trapped in this condo with a group full of people, her ride home no closer to being ready to leave than she had been ten minutes earlier.
She turned, grasping for a fancy bookend she’d managed to knock loose. It fell to the ground with a heavy clang, and when she bent to pick it up, there he was, devouring her with his penetrating stare.
He was staring, watching her from across the room. How had he even ended up here, in this condo?
Wishing she had something to occupy her hands, Blare made a beeline for the food, his image filling her mind as she filled her plate. He was so painfully handsome she could barely stare at him for too long. Why couldn’t he have been a jerk at the store? She moved then, closer to the windows, looking down into the bustling city traffic, wishing she were anywhere but here… away from him.
Because he scared the shit out of her.
Why was she avoiding him? Because in a crazy, bizarre twist of fate, the good-looking stranger with the gorgeous, seductive eyes is her best friend’s step-brother and completely off-limits. Cheeks flaming hot, Blare plucked a wine glass off a nearby table, and chugged it….
Collin: I have something here that belongs to Tabitha. Can you give me her cell?
Greyson: You haven’t texted me in days, and now it’s only because you want my friend’s number?! Rude.
Collin: Please? I’ll go buy that ugly-ass shower curtain you picked out.
Greyson: Fine. Deal. But I’m not giving you her cell—she won’t want you having that. You can have her email address instead.
Collin: What the hell, Grey? Why not?
Greyson: She’s still embarrassed about what happened at Target.
Collin: So?
Greyson: loud sigh You just don’t understand women at all, do you…
Collin: That’s never been up for debate.
Greyson: Do you want her info or not?
Collin: Fine. Yes.
Greyson: I know you’re pouting, you big baby.
Greyson: Ready? Here it is…
Greyson: Don’t abuse it. Tell her what you need to tell her, then leave her alone.
Collin: Me? Abuse it? It pains me that you would say that. Like I would abuse her privacy like that…
Greyson: You WOULD do that.
Collin: Yeah, I totally would, but only because I have no boundaries—but not in a weird way.
Greyson: I’m confused. What other way is there?
Collin: Oh gee, let me think—inventing a fake boyfriend and blasting it on Twitter like some “other people” I know. That’s the other way.
Greyson: Sometimes I wish I was an only child.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thank You
Tabitha, thanks for coming with Cal and Greyson to my housewarming party last night. I hope you enjoyed yourself. Thank you for the bottle of wine. Just a quick note: I have a book that I think belongs to you. Actually, I know it does because you left it at Blooming Grounds and I’m just now getting around to letting you know. Let me know how best to return it to you.
CK
From: [email protected]
Subject: ??
Collin. I’m confused. How did you end up with it? I knew I misplaced it, but it never would have occurred to me that you had it since I was just at your house. So now I’m wondering, why didn’t you give it back to me then??? I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that it’s important. Would it be an inconvenience for you to pop it in the mail as soon as possible?
Tabitha Thompson
From: [email protected]
Subject: No can do.
Tabitha, to answer your question, you dropped the book at Blooming Grounds. During your tizzy. And unfortunately, mailing the book won’t work for me. Want to meet somewhere? I don’t mind getting it to you in person.
CK
From: [email protected]
Subject: I wouldn’t want to impose.
Collin. That’s a very generous offer, but to save you trouble, again, why not just pop it in the mail? I’ll gladly pay the shipping.
Tabitha Thompson
From: [email protected]
Subject: No big deal
Tabitha, I can assure you, it would be no imposition. How does 5:30 on Thursday night sound? After work? Does Finches Tap House sound good to you? It’s on the corner of Rayburn and Division. CK
From: [email protected]
Subject: Sounds good
Collin. Yes, I know where that is.
You’re going to force me to see you… aren’t you?
From: [email protected]
Subject: It’s a date.
We’re on for 5:30. Can’t wait.
CK
From: [email protected]
Subject: Fine.
It’s not a date.
Tabitha: Collin, it’s Tabitha Thompson. I hope it’s okay that I asked Greyson for your cell. I wanted to let you know that I’m no longer available to meet Thursday.
Collin: Not to be rude, but you are full of shit.
Tabitha: Why on earth would I lie?
Collin: I can think of a couple reasons. 1) because you’re embarrassed I witnessed your tantrum at the store, and 2) because you write dirty, dirty books…
Tabitha: They are NOT dirty books!
Collin: Not dirty? What about this part: “And when he stroked my inner thigh, my body quivered and started on fire, igniting my core.” What the hell is a core, by the way?
Tabitha: STOP! Just stop. I get the picture. Fine, they’re dirty books. Big deal. And anyway, I have a work thing on Thursday I forgot about.
Collin: “A work thing.” Has anyone told you you’re a terrible liar?
Tabitha: I honestly CANNOT meet with you on Thursday. Can you just send my book in the mail? Please.
Collin: That makes no sense. We live in the same city. Besides, how is that any fun?
Tabitha : Fun? I’m not looking for fun. I just want my book back! I’m sure you’ve noticed it contains notes. It’s valuable. The sooner you send it back the better.
Collin: Too bad. I’m not sending it in the mail. You have to meet me, or you’ll never hold it in your greedy hands again.
Tabitha: That’s blackmail!
Collin: No, it’s extortion.
Tabitha: Um no… it’s blackmail.
Collin: Semantics. Text me when you’re ready to negotiate.
Tabitha: That will NEVER happen. NEVER!!!!
Tabitha: Okay, fine. What’s it going to take?
Collin: Wow, you held out an entire twenty minutes. I expected more resistance from you, quite honestly. This must be driving you crazy, huh?
Tabitha: You have no idea.
Collin: Oh, I have an idea.
Tabitha : Could you please just mail it? Please. I’m asking nicely.
Collin: Actually, that sounds more like begging.
Tabitha: You’re bordering on obnoxious.
Collin: Calling me names isn’t going to convince me.
Tabitha:…and by ‘obnoxious’ I meant adorable?
Collin:Fine, I’ll think about it.
Tabitha : Really?!
Collin: No.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Clearing the air.
Collin. So, I’ve been wanting to clear the air since we last met, but have been too nervous. And embarrassed. I never did apologize for what happened when I saw you and Greyson at the store and jumped to conclusions. And for being weird at the coffee shop. And avoiding you at your housewarming party. Wow. Putting it into words really looks… terrible. Yikes! It was all very childish. I’m sorry. Tabitha
From: [email protected]
Subject: Possession is 9/10th of the Law
If you’re trying to get me to change my mind by apologizing, it won’t work. Nice try though. Seriously, your mild effort only mildly warms my heart. This reminds me of the time I nailed my sister in the face with a football and the force knocked her flat on the ass. I apologized, but only because my parents made me. And Greyson knew I only said sorry to get myself out of trouble. It worked on my parents, but it won’t work on me. You can sweet-talk me all you want, but this book is now in a hostage situation. I shall enjoy reading it again and again and again, while thinking of you the entire time.
CK
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thinking of me the entire time?
Collin, dear God, please don’t—I don’t want you thinking of me AT ALL, let alone the entire time you’re reading my book. Alright. You’ve worn me down. Since the book is valuable to me, I agree to meet you Thursday. But just so you know, it’s under EXTREME duress. Tabitha
Collin: TE Thomas, I will see you Thursday.
If a glower could kill, I would be a dead man.
We’re sitting across from each other at a booth at Finches Tap, a slightly grimy sports bar in a rougher part of town, but what Finches lacks in cleanliness it makes up for in atmosphere.
Dimly lit leather booths line the walls, loud music masks chatter from surrounding patrons, and beer is served ice cold. The wait staff is experienced and knows when to disappear.
Like now.
Left alone to our own devices in the seclusion of our giant corner booth, Tabitha and I each have our arms crossed defensively, regarding each other across the marred tabletop like the worthiest adversaries, spoiling for a showdown. Under the hazy overhead light and flickering candle in front of us, Tabitha’s glossy lips gleam as her eyes do their best to spear me into silence.
Unsuccessfully, I might add.
I refuse to let her spoil my good mood.
“You know what my favorite part of your whole book was—besides the part where Rachel finally loses her virginity? This part here.” I poke the open page with my forefinger and slide the book nearer to Tabitha across the table. “This part here, where she asks Devon to be her love coach.” I lower my voice to a whisper, conspiratorially. “Did you know by love, Rachel actually means…” I look to my left, then to my right, acting covertly like I don’t want anyone to overhear me. “Sex?”
I do my best to sound appalled.
“I am well aware.” Tabitha glares at me from across the booth, holding her hand out, palm up. She’s not smiling, but her gorgeous eyes dance with mischief. “Are you done having fun at my expense?” She wiggles her fingers. “Please hand it over.”
“Whoa there, grabby hands.” I tsk and wriggle my index finger at her, hesitating to hand her book over. “Just hold your horses a minute. I’d like to read out loud from it first, if you don’t mind.”
“Actually, I do mind.”
“Yeah, but the part where he takes her to his family picnic, and they almost kiss behind the shed? Brilliant sexual tension. Now, drawing your attention to chapter ten—”
“I know what chapter ten says, you ass.” Her hand flies across the booth to deftly snatch her novel out of my evil clutches, and defensively she cradles the book to her chest like a newborn baby.
I watch as she relaxes and begins fanning out the pages, thoroughly examining them for damage. Her lithe fingers run over the cover, stroking it like the paperback is actually precious cargo.
What a weirdo.
“What the hell are you inspecting it for?”
“You dog-eared the pages!” She accuses me with another pissed-off scowl, her blue eyes squinting at me. Opening a black messenger bag, she carefully digs through it, clears a spot, and strategically places the book inside. “Why would you do that?”
“You wrote in it!” I pick up a menu that’s lying in the center of the table and give her a carefree shrug. “Besides, I didn’t have a bookmark.”
“You read it?” She gasps, horrified. “You read my romance novel?”
“Well, yeah. I like to read, so…” I shrug my broad shoulders again, defensively. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But it’s my proof copy! I mean, the author’s copy. For editing,” she screeches. The woman in the next booth shushes us. Frustrated, Tabitha lowers her voice. “You don’t just read a proof copy.”
“You were reading it,” I point out, grabbing a hunk of bread out of the communal bread basket, then peeling the tabs back on two tiny pats of butter. I spread them on before shoving the hunk in my mouth, chewing slowly.
“But it’s mine. I—” Tabitha clamps her mouth shut.
I swallow before responding. “Wrote it? Yeah, I know.” Her mouth falls open. “And you don’t trust me with it.”
“Look, we could sit here all night—”
“Excellent.” I lay down the butter knife and sit back, crossing my arms. Noticing with satisfaction, her eyes follow my movements, up the length of my ripped arms, landing on the hard muscles of my biceps.
I flex.
She rolls her eyes.
“Jeez, would you knock it off? I’m not falling for that.” Tabitha gives her head an agitated shake, her silky blonde hair floating around her shoulders in waves. “And stop trying to bait me into an argument.”
“Bait you? Bait you? What the…” Realization sets in. “Ahhhh, a slutty romance book word. I like it.”
Her forehead lands with a thud onto the tabletop. She lets out a loud, tortured groan. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I soothe. “It’s a really good book. Sort of.” I lift the menu, scanning the appetizers. “I mean, it’s not winning any Pulitzer Prizes for literature, but I did particularly like the part where Rachel finally loses her virginity. It took long enough though—more than halfway into the book? Come on, Rachel, show some hustle.”
“We are not having this conversation.”
She’s so cute.
“Look, all I’m saying is, Rachel could have shown more sense of urgency. Wasn’t the whole point of the book for her to get laid?”
Tabitha lifts her head and wrinkles her nose—her adorable, pert little nose. “No, that wasn’t the point of the book, and you do not get to give feedback on the plot. It’s bad enough that you know I wrote it. I don’t even know how you knew.”
“Seriously, Tab? I would think that was pretty obvious. I mean, your pen name is basically your name, so…”
“It is not!”
“Tabitha Elizabeth Thompson. TE Thomas? Really? What kind of a moron do you think I am?”
“No one is supposed to know.” She says it in such a small voice I have to strain to hear her across the noisy din of Finches.
“What do you mean no one is supposed to know? Does your family know?” I lay my palms flat on the table. “It’s awesome that you wrote a book. Tabitha—you wrote a book.”
She’s silent, so I continue. “Help me understand why someone beautiful, intelligent, and so obviously clever would hide the fact that she wrote a novel. Why won’t you tell people?”
She hides her face in her palms and mumbles, “Because. It’s embarrassing.”
As if that explains everything.
“What is?”
She sits up straighter then and blows out a frustrated little puff of air, causing delicate wisps of light blonde hair to float around her face. She tilts her head back, and it hits the red leather back of the booth. After staring at the ceiling for a few heartbeats, Tabitha raises her head and looks me directly in the eye. “If I hadn’t written a romance, I would probably tell people. Maybe if the book wasn’t as explicit as it is. But I don’t want my parents to know I wrote something so…”
Her hands come up and do this little lilty thing in the air that girls do when they can’t find the right words to finish a sentence.
I decide to help her out. “Porn-ish?”
“No! It’s not porn, it’s…” Again with the hand waves.
“Whore-ish?”
“No! Collin, stop.” A smile teases her lips and her eyes, well—those are gazing at me all wide and sparkly. Laughing. Fucking intense is what those gorgeous eyes are, and they’re directed at me. “It’s… it’s…”
“Literotica?”
This stops her train of thought and she looks at me, her face twisted up in obvious confusion. “Wait. What?”
“What? You’ve never heard of Literotica and you write it?” She shakes her head slowly. “Don’t worry, I hadn’t either. It popped up in the search results when I Googled your pen name.”
I pick up the water glass and calmly slurp through the straw. The sound makes Tabitha scowl. “Anyway, it’s basically written to turn people on. Like porn. But you know—in writing.”
“I was going to say that my writing is risqué.” Tabitha rolls her eyes; they appear even bluer on her blushing, bright red face. “My book is not erotica. That’s not what it’s about and you know it. Stop making fun of me. It has an actual plot, and a storyline, and a climax.”
A snort escapes my nose.
“Without trying to get myself into deeper trouble, can I just point something out?” I lift the menu again to study the entrées, casually perusing it before coolly pointing out the obvious. “You just said climax.”
Her arms go up in defeat. “See? This is why I can’t tell my family! Put that menu down!”
Holding the menu higher, I block out the glacial stare I know is being directed my way. Her exasperated voice drifts over the top with a huff, and she gives the plastic menu a poke with her finger to regain my attention.
“Would you put down that menu? Collin Keller, we are not staying for dinner.”
Shit. I kind of like it when she says my name like that, all pissed off and agitated. Collin Keller, we are not staying for dinner! So fucking cute.
I put down the menu and pretend to be confused. “But it’s dinner time. Aren’t you hungry?”
She rolls those gorgeous, baby blues again. “I had a late lunch. On purpose.”
What a fiery little hothead she is.
I like it.
My fingers drum the tabletop in thought. “So I’ve been thinking, I know you said you don’t consider this a date, but—”
“Hold it right there.” Her palm goes up to stop me from finishing my sentence. “This is not a date. A date is getting dressed up, going somewhere nice, and getting to know someone.”
“Kind of like what we’re doing right now?”
“That is not what we’re doing right now. Right now we are making an exchange.”
I disagree and it shows on my face. “What do I get in return?”
“Nothing. I get my book and you get nothing.”
“Well, gee, when you put it that way… my end of the deal sounds shitty.”
We’re interrupted at that moment by the waiter, who steps forward with his pad of paper, pen hovering at the ready. “Have you decided on anything yet, or do you need a few minutes?”
I expect Tabitha to grab her messenger bag and slide her sexy self out of the booth, but instead, she surprises me by grabbing her menu with a resigned huff, scanning it briefly, and saying, “I’ll have the black angus cheeseburger, medium rare, with a side of fries. Extra pickles. Oh, and an iced tea please.”
She sighs and hands the waiter back his menu. “You made me come here. This is what you get in exchange.”
“A non-date date?”
She folds her arms across her fantastic breasts. “Exactly. I’m just not sure dating you would be a good decision for either of us.”
I watch her the entire time I give my order to the waiter. “Double cheeseburger medium rare, cheese curds, ranch on the side.” I hand the menu over, Tabitha’s earlier agitation making me chuckle. “Why isn’t dating me a good decision? And why do you have to say it with that look of disgust on your face. I’m kind of insulted.”
“Several reasons, and I’ll gladly list them off for you. First, you’re Greyson’s brother—you don’t think that’s weird?”
“I refuse to discuss it. Next.” I watch the kitchen’s service door swing back and forth, willing the food to come out though we just placed our orders.
I’m fucking starving.
And not just for food.
Tabitha prattles on across from me. “Second, we got off on the wrong foot. I freaked out at the coffee shop, and now this dating thing could be awkward for us.”
“Quit bringing that shit up. Trust, me, you’ll get over it. I did. Next.”
Now she’s ticking items off on her fingers, bobbing her cute little head as she counts. “Third, you just moved back into the area. Don’t you want to see what’s on the market? There are a lot of attractive women in this city.”
“Been there, done that. Next!” Shit, maybe I said that one a little too loudly—the couple at the neighboring table crane their necks in our direction.
“You’re really annoying.”
I ignore her complaining. “Are you looking forward to dinner? I’m ravenous.” I chuckle, delighted with my own wit. “How’s that for smut romance lingo?”
“Meh.” She gives me a flirty little wink. “Not bad.”
I take that as a good sign. “How bout a glass of wine?”
She sighs, defeated. “I guess I could use some alcohol to calm my nerves, but wine doesn’t really go with a burger. How ‘bout a beer?” Tabitha reaches for her water, taking a dainty sip before continuing. “You don’t want to play the field? Casually date?”
“What am I, nineteen? No.” I reach for her hand across the table and pull it towards me. She lets me. “Look, we could do this all night, Tabitha. But I’d rather just enjoy your company.” She bites down on her plump lower lip. It’s driving me crazy. “God, I can’t even look at you without wanting to put my mouth on you.”
“Oh my god, you can’t just say things like that!” she hisses, mortified.
“You’re kidding me, right? You write sex books for a living.”
“Shh! No one is supposed to know that.” Her hand settles into mine and her thumb begins distractedly stroking my palm. “And that’s not what I do for a living.”
“But that is what you want to be doing, right?”
She frowns. “What I want and what’s best for me are two totally different things. I can’t leave my dad’s business until Cal is ready to take on more responsibility.”
“Is that what your parents told you?”
“Well, no—”
“And you don’t think they want you to be happy, Tabitha?”
When I say her name, she looks up from our joined hands. “Have you always just done what you wanted? As if it were easy?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
She bites down on her lip again and gives her head a gloomy little shake. “I thought working for my parents was what I always wanted. It’s the only thing I knew.” She scoffs. “Hell, my degree is in Business with an emphasis on Construction Management, for crying out loud. It’s the only thing I’m qualified for. How sad is that?”
“You’re incredible. I am actually in awe of you right now.”
“Collin, stop.” She tugs her hand out of my grip and sets it in her lap.
“Why should I? You need to hear it.”
“I do hear it. My family tells me they love me all the time.”
I disagree. Being told you’re loved and being given the chance to make your own choices are not the same thing, but I keep that opinion to myself, choosing my next words wisely. “Then why are you hiding yourself from them?”
For a while, I don’t think she’s going to respond. Instead, her forlorn frown studies her hands, where she’s clasped them in her lap. Opening her palms, she spreads them wide, appearing, for the first time since I met her, young and vulnerable. “It’s because I’m scared.”
“Of what?” My words come out above a whisper.
“Of everything.”
I pause. “Well, that’s horseshit.”
Surprised laughter bursts from her lips. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, shaking her blonde hair. “And kind of an ass.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
