She blushed and looked down at her thighs, her hand inadvertently sliding over my abs as she retrieved it.
“You mean it’s complicated because you want me?”
She nodded. “And that scares me, because you scare me, Drew. This, how you are now, is a complete contrast to who you normally are. You sometimes look at me like I’m dirt on your shoes and others… I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.”
The smile on my face faded the more she spoke—mainly because I didn’t have the first idea how to speak to a woman this way without putting my foot in it and making some jerk-like comment. My eyes met hers, searching the pools of blue while I cleared my throat and whispered, “Do you know how many girls out there want to be with me?”
Ayda sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down on it hard, only releasing it when she pulled in another deep breath that sounded distinctly resigned. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“Neither do I,” I answered quickly. “And that’s my point. I’m Eric Tucker’s only son. Even your eyes widened the first time you heard my name and you didn’t even know me. We’d never met. I’m a name—always have been—a person that’s idolized for reasons that are so fucked up, I can’t even begin to understand it. So how the hell do I know when people wantmeor when they just want to be near the infamous Drew Tucker? Being a dick is my response to that. It’s why I am the way I am. Being cold stops people even thinking about getting too close. I hate anyone who thinks they have me all figured out just because of what they’ve heard…” I trailed off slowly, my eyes closing as I raised both brows, shrugging before looking up at her again. “I’m unpredictable now because of that.”
“To who?”
“Myself, mostly.”
“Why?”
“I guess it keeps me on my toes. Keeps life interesting. And… I guess I’m just trying to figure out which version of me fits best.”
“Fits what?” she whispered.
“Everyone’s expectations.”
“What about your expectations?”
Pressing my lips together, I gave her a flat smile and huffed out a barely there laugh. “I don’t have any. I take one day at a time, wake up, try to survive, maybe get some physical action along the way, then go to sleep. I’m not like the rest of you. Normal doesn’t cut it. Normal is dangerous territory. I wasn’t made to be that way. That’s why things always get so fucked up… because of me.”
“You don’t have to be like anyone else, Drew, but it seems to me you’re existing, not living.”
“That’s because you have your own ideas of what living is. To me,thisis living. Being here, surrounded by my brothers, living away from society’s rules. In this life, with those guys out there, we’re free in our own way. It might not make sense to anyone outside of those gates, but it makes sense to us. It’s who we are. Your way of life, the groundhog day shit, being nice to people you hate, working all hours to fall into bed at night with nothing but ten new wrinkles and the smell of greasy food in your hair… that’s existing, sweetheart. That’s existing. At least here, where I’m close to so much death, I’m always reminded that I’m alive.”
My ass shifted beneath her, trying to get her to fall back down and lay against me. I don’t know why I felt I needed her closer, but I did and the look on her face wasn’t filling me with much hope that that was what I was about to get.
As though on cue, Ayda pushed up and swung a leg up and over me, her body shifting so she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands pushing back her already brushed back hair. “Drew, I don’t live or exist. I do what I have to in order to survive. I’m not under some illusion here, but I knew what Ihad to do when my folks died, and I get on with it as best I can and try not to fuck up too much along the way.”
In trying to achieve one thing, I’d achieved the exact opposite. My body immediately missed the warmth of hers, but I knew I couldn’t move. Every roll of my head was making the room spin more and more, so I stayed where I was and shot my eyes up to the ceiling.
“Don’t get pissy, Ayda. I ain’t judging shit about you. We all do what we have to do to see another day. We’re the lucky ones.”
She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest for a moment. Before I could say or do anything more, she leaned back, lowering herself slowly so her head was resting on my chest. “That’s not a word I’d attribute to myself, and I’m by no means defeatist.”
Keeping my elbow on the mattress, I raised my hand to the back of her neck and just rested it there. My eyes got heavier and my mouth got looser, the words falling out without much thought for her or for me. “Yes, you are.”
“Defeatist or lucky?” she asked quietly, raising her hand to cover mine.
“Defeatist. You lost your fight the day your parents died,” I whispered.
“How do you figure that?”
“It’s in everything you do, every move you make, every look you give, every comeback you hit me with… but mainly it’s in your eyes. I’ve only ever seen it in one other place before.”
Tilting her head to the side, her eyes found mine. “And where’s that?”
“In the mirror.”
“And why…” she began, swallowing. “Why are you defeatist, Drew?”
As I stared down into her eyes, I waited for the usual tensing of my body to happen. I waited for every muscle to seize, every thought to turn to him, and for every part of me to want to throw her to the floor and get the hell out of there. But no matter how long I waited, none of that happened. I stayed calm and I stayed in the moment with her, even when his name eventually fell from my lips.
