Filling her lungs, she says, “Because. What am I going to do if I startlikingyou?”
Marry me, maybe? Letting my thoughts wander, I murmur, “I can think of a grand many things.”
Her head shakes, and she tugs on her hand. “Please don’t.”
“How do you picture your relationship with someone?”
“I do not picture any relationship with you.” She begins a futile effort of using her other hand to leverage my fingers off her; somehow I wind up with both her hands stuck in mine.
I proceed, “It’s important for us to learn whether our natural inclinations are compatible.”
“I have no natural inclinations. I am as innocent as a newborn babe.” She leans back, putting all her weight into her freedom efforts.
I let go, watch the terror of falling ripple through her eyes, then catch her by the wrists and string her arms up over her head. Hooking a finger beneath her chin, I murmur. “How does this make you feel?”
Her weight goes from present to full, and I look down to learn that she no longer has functioning knees.
Which checks out with what she’s just said about her innocence.
Newborns also lack functioning knees.
“Pro or con?” I ask.
Her throat bobs. “I cannot walk.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“You think being unable to walk is agoodthing?”
“You’re very adamantly dodging an answer.” Bending, I sweep her up into my arms, freeing hers in the process. Rocking her against my chest, I repeat, “Pro or con?”
Her lip trembles. “I…remain unable to walk.”
I smile.
Her fingers latch in my workout shirt as her eyes flick between mine and my mouth. Soft and quiet, she says, “P…pro.”
I kiss her cheek.
Her nails nip me through the fabric of my clothes.
I murmur, “Pro.”
Shaking breath leaves her. “You may actually be unbearable.”
I hum as I start toward the front door. “I think, honestly, I like the soft-core insults. Pro.”
She whimpers.
“Oh, that’s definitely a pro.”
For reasons unknown but not unwelcome, she buries her face against my chest.
Threads of delight course through me. “Come on, precious,” I whisper as I nudge the front door open. “I need information. So I can treat you better. Did you hate everything about Halloween night, or just that I left too soon when you wanted more?”
She flinches.
Maybe something easier. “What about my tattoos?”
