He reached over and adjusted the heat. “One, they need to be okay with it being purely a physical transaction. No cuddling, no staying the night. Two, they can’t be in an emotional state, when they can’t make a clear decision. No using me to get back at someone. They need to consciously decide on their own that they want to have a one-night stand.” He paused but kept his eyes forward. “Three, they can’t be at risk for falling for me, or making any emotional connection.”
Wow. He’d really tried to think all of this through.
“So do you have some questionnaires you carry around in your pocket?” I teased. “Oh, wait, I can’t leave the house until I have my condoms and my questionnaire.”
He laughed, and I was glad I could joke around with him. Josh had hated it when I’d teased him, and over time, I’d tried to stop. It felt good to be more myself.
“Believe it or not,” he said, clearly amused with our conversation. “I do talk to the women. I don’t just go straight for their pants.”
“Such a gentleman,” I said, feigning a sense of pride.
“I know nobody approves of my lifestyle, except for the lucky women who thoroughly enjoy it, but I’m not asking for anyone’s approval. This is how I live my life, and it’s been working well for me so far.” He wasn’t upset and seemed to be content in his choices.
“And why is it the way you live your life? I don’t get it.” Did people really live their lives like that for fun, or could there be a deeper reason? I wasn’t expecting him to change, but I wanted to understand why Slate had chosen to be like this.
His jaw tightened, and a serious look replaced the relaxed and carefree one he’d been wearing a few seconds ago.
“Why do I have to have a reason?” His voice turned brisk, and silence fell between us.
I hadn’t realized my curiosity would cause this effect, so I pivoted, not wanting the rest of the drive to be strained. He didn’t need to tell me why he did what he did. It was his life, not mine.
Taking a breath, I said, “Okay, you obviously don’t want to talk about this, so let’s move on to a different topic.” I hurried to think of something easier to talk about. “Tell me about your family. I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned them.”
His sullen demeanor didn’t change. “There’s a reason I haven’t mentioned them.” His voice was void of all emotion. “I don’t have one.”
Oh. I had not been expecting that. I wanted to ask more questions, but I could tell this was another touchy subject.
Could his lack of family relationships be what had him jumping from bed to bed? Was he looking for a connection with people but going about it the wrong way? No, if you felt starved for a connection with someone, you didn’t have prerequisites to make sure no one got too close.
I had to make a conscious effort not to ask him more. Who was Slate underneath all the cockiness?
“Why don’t you tell me more about your family?” he said, his tone softening.
Instead of pushing him about his family, I went along with changing the conversation to tell him about mine.
“My family is pretty average,” I started. “My parents were high school sweethearts. They got married soon after graduating. My grandpa owned the local car repair shop where my dad worked when he was growing up and eventually took it over once his dad passed. A year after they were married, they had my brother, Beau. Then two years later, they had me.” I wasn’t sure how much he wanted to know, so I stopped, keeping it simple.
“What are your parents like?” he asked. “I’m assuming I’m going to meet them tonight?”
“Oh, yeah, they’ll be there for sure,” I answered. “Amy is like a second daughter to them. We were inseparable once she moved to our town in the ninth grade.” I paused, trying to think of a good way to explain what my parents were like. “Have you ever seen the movieSweet Home Alabama? The one with Reese Witherspoon?”
He gave me a curious glance. “Yeah, a long time ago.”
“Well, her parents in that movie are a lot like mine. Good, small-town people who love their town but have no idea what the real world is like,” I said with a smile. I loved my parents, but they could be a little quirky.
“And what are they going to think when you show up with me?” he asked with a grin.
I pretended to examine him. “Hmm,” I said, making his smile grow. “Let’s see. My mom will get hung up on your model looks and wonder what I’m doing with a city boy. And my dad will also get stuck on your looks, wondering why you’d put so much time into how you look, but he will also be excited to talk football with you.”
He laughed at my answer. “Wait, there is so much in there we need to talk about. First, let’s talk about how you think I’m arrogant because I think I’m an attractive male and occasionally voice it, but then you say that I have ‘model looks’ and that is the first thing your parents are going to focus on.”
I trained my eyes on the road. “I never saidIthink you have model looks, just that it’s what my mom will think. And, yeah, okay your looks do get a lot of attention. I’ll admit that.”
“When are you going to admit that you think I’m good looking too?” he said with a smirk.
“I never said you weren’t.” I looked out my window, turning away from him. Were we really having this conversation? Why did he care if I thought he was hot? He had everyone else telling him that. Wasn’t it enough?
“Yeah, but you’ve never said it out loud either,” he pushed.
