So rude . . .
My butthole stings, if I’m being honest.
“Wrong,” I announce, punctuating the word with a buzzer sound. “I can be serious.Deadserious.” I straighten, giving her my best stone-cold look.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, letting my grin soften. “All right, since you think I’m all jokes and no depth, ask me something. Anything. I’ll prove you wrong.”
Lucy tilts her head, that playful sparkle in her eye still there, but I can tell she’s curious now. “Anything?”
“Anything,” I confirm, laying down the challenge with a shrug. “Make it count.”
She bites her lip, thinking—God help me, that bottom lip—and asks, “What’s the most serious thing you’ve ever done?”
I pause, caught off guard. I didn’t think she’d go straight for the deep end. My first instinct is to brush it off with a joke, but for some reason, I don’t.
I lean into the question, running a hand over my jaw, my voice dropping a little as I say, “The most serious thing I’ve ever done? That’s easy. When I was a kid, I took care of my mom after my dad walked out.”
Her smirk vanishes. She blinks at me, surprised. “What?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, trying to keep it casual, even though the memory still stings. “My dad bailed when I was eight. Left my mom with threekids, a mortgage, and not much else. She worked her ass off—two jobs, sometimes three. Barely had time to breathe, let alone deal with me and my sisters. So I stepped up. Made sure my sisters got to school, did their homework, didn’t burn the house down. You know, the usual stuff.”
“Right. The usual stuff.” Lucy stares at me, her playful demeanor completely replaced by something. “That’s a lot of responsibility for an eight-year-old.”
No shit.
I also had to get myself to and from football practice and sign myself up for camps because Mom would forget to do it. And when we didn’t have the money, I was the kid who begged the coaches to let me practice with the team anyway.
Whatever. It made me the man I am today—and made me appreciate what I’ve earned.
Nothing was more satisfying than retiring my mother the day I signed my contract with Arizona.
Nothing.
“Yeah. It was a lot.” I shrug again, memories coming at me all at once. “You do what you’ve gotta do, right? It wasn’t all bad. I learned how to cook—well, mostly how not to set spaghetti on fire. And I figured out laundry, though that was always a mess. Turns out you’re not supposed to mix dark colors and light. Who knew?”
She lets out a soft laugh, but her eyes don’t leave mine. They’re softer now, more serious. “I never would have guessed.”
“It’s not exactly first-date material, is it?” I scoff. “‘Hi, I’m Harris. My dad is a deadbeat, and I know how to fold a fitted sheet.’ Such a panty dropper, right?”
“Actually? Yes.” She leans forward, mirroring me, her elbows on her knees. “You’re full of surprises.”
“You have no idea.” The words come out quieter than I intend, but I don’t bother covering it up. For once, I don’t feel like putting on a show. “Don’t let this ruin your image of me as a goofy, carefree lumberjack. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”
Her nod is slow. Lucy settles back onto the couch again, and I watch her raise a glass to her lip and take a sip. “I don’t think it ruins anything. If anything, it adds a bit of complexity.”
“Complexity,” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Don’t know,” she teases, but her eyes—those eyes—say otherwise. “Haven’t decided yet.”
I lean closer, dropping my voice low. “Well, I don’t have a ton of time to convince you.” Pause. “What about you?” I ask. “What’s the most serious thing you’ve done?”
“Most serious thing I’ve done?” she repeats, tipping her head back against the couch.
A faint smile plays at her lips that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she considers my question in kind, like she’s trying to come up with something that sounds as impressively complicated as my answer, but nothing comes.
“Honestly?” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything big or crazy. Never left my town, never packed up and started over somewhere new.”
I blink. “Seriously? You’ve never lived anywhere else?”
