“You didn’t love him either.”
“Guess not. I thought I did.”
“You haven’t had a relationship since Carter, have you?”
“Nothing serious. Only casual.”
“I’m glad we’re covering this yellow. I’ve always hated it.”
“Such a polite child not to have said so.”
Lie laughs. “Are you sure? I feel like I’ve said it a lot.”
“Maybe to Nason. Never in front of me.”
“My parents must have taught me to be polite or something.”
I chuckle. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“I realize I have twenty years on you, but you’re old enough to have had some relationships.”
“Nineteen years,” Lie corrects, “and I’m not sure I’d consider high school relationships anything worth mentioning unless they last more than a month. Mine did not.”
“I always expected you and Cash to get together.”
Lie laughs. “Ohmygod, he’ll love that. His parents used to make subtle comments on that idea, too. We were never that. Ever. I think I crushed on him for all of six minutes when we were fourteen.”
I’m surprised by the way that pleases me. Maybe it relieves me a little, too. Which is ridiculous. This isn’t going anywhere. If for no other reason at all, I’m half convinced that I will never find someone who makes me want to spend my life with them. I’ve tried twice and have felt immense relief when those relationships were over.
But bigger than that, this is Nason’s son. I still remember the day he was born. I remember holding him in my arms, the third person to do so. I remember babysitting him when his parents went out, changing his diaper, and camping in the backyard.
Everything about this is all levels of wrong. Bad.
Forbidden.
The word sends a shiver of excitement through me.
“Are you enjoying the bar?” I ask, needing to change the subject. I feel like this could lead somewhere neither of us need to go.
“There’s this co-worker who lets me suck him off in the break room,” he comments, as if he’s noting that the sun is out. “He’s super hot. Has that Daddy vibe, you know?”
I huff. “Yeah? Anything else?”
“I get tons of compliments from the customers. They all want a piece of what’s in my itty-bitty shorts. The number of comments I have on my cock would make me rich if I had a dollar for each.”
“You do wear the sluttiest shorts,” I agree.
“Someone seems to like my ass in them.”
That I do. So damn much. “I hope he knows you’re more than just a nice piece of ass.”
“Considering he hasn’t been that close to my ass, I think he’s got an idea.”
I chuckle. “What else?”
“I’m guessing maybe you’re fishing for a real answer. So, honestly? I don’t hate it. I enjoy that there seem to be less entitled assholes expecting me to jump when they snap their fingers in my direction. There are fewer rude people at bars, in my experience. Everyone is there for a good time. Every night is different. The variety of drinks keeps me on my toes.”
