He’d always been the ultimate gentleman...everywhere except the bedroom. Either way,I ate most of the pizza, and I had no regrets.
Luke watched me demolish the last slice, leaning against the kitchen counter, slowly tipping cold beer down his elegant throat. I could tell he had something to say.
I licked my fingers and shut the pizza box. “Something on your mind?”
“Would it matter if there was?”
I rolled my eyes. At some point in the twenty minutes it had takenus to inhale an extra-large pizza, I’d lost the will to pretend I was entirely dead inside. “Just say it, Daley.”
For a moment, he seemed as though he wouldn’t, then he sighed. “Why are we so bad at this?”
“At what?”
“Having a normal conversation. We’ve always been crap at it.”
“That’s not true. We used to talk for hours when we camped out at the lake to screw all night.”
“We were teenagers, we didn’t have that much to say.”
That wasn’t true either. Our relationship—in the traditional sense—had been on and off since we’d started secondary school, and even in his father’s last few months, when Luke had rarely spent a night away from my bed, we’d never acted like a proper couple. No dates or hand holding in public. No V-day cards or mushy shit. But we’d alwayshad plenty to say, even when the words wouldn’t come.
I reached for my beer. “Since when have you ever wanted to be normal? Has adulthood changed you that much?”
“You tell me.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
He shook his head slightly, as if our childish exchange validated his point. And I couldn’t deny it. We weren’t like other people. Gus had brought a hook-up home the other night. They’dhad a drink and a laugh, some noisy sex, and parted with more laughter. So fun. So easy.
Nothing about Luke had ever been easy.
Or maybe it was me.
I drained my bottle and slid it across the counter so it skittered to a stop beside him, teetering dangerously on the edge. The Luke I used to know would’ve caught it, unable to cope with the mess if it fell. This older, wiser version ignoredit. Kept his gaze on me, taking me apart without saying a word or moving a glorious muscle. “What do you actually want from me?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
He sighed. “Nothing that we’ve fucked up before.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I don’t want to fight about shit that happened ten years ago. If you want to talk, I can do that, but I don’t want a fight. I’m donewith all that.”
Lucky him, but my temper tripped up as I traced his tired face—the lines the past decade had put there, the subtle smudges shading his beautiful eyes. My fury for him burned bright, but the will to unleash it on him diminished with every second I lingered in his spotless kitchen.
I couldn’t fathom how such a thing was possible. I’d married Laurent to get Luke out of myhead once and for all, and when that had failed, I’d been angrier with him than ever, but right now, I just wanted to...be here with him.
The realisation stunned me. I shook my head. “I don’t want to fight either.”
“So whatdoyou want? You made it pretty clear we’re not friends.”
“Do we have to be?” I stepped around his breakfast bar, an inch from invading his personal space. “Friends,I mean? Can’t we be something else?”
His eyes widened. “Like what?”
“Like what Gus has with the guys he hooks up with. I don’t want to fight, I don’t even want to think. I just—”
