“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Lou. I have years of fuck-ups to make up for here.” He smiles and adds softly, “Just let me buy you some goddamn dinner.” He’s already sliding the cash across the table and finishing his signature when the server comes to collect. After a moment, I take it and stuff it back into my clutch.
We’re quiet again when he leads me to his truck and opens the door for me. I slide in, buckle up, and keep my eyes on the passenger window as he starts the engine and backs out.
He presses a button by the radio, and this time Eden comes on. I sit back against the seat, relaxing my head on the cushioned headrest, trying to figure out how the hell I feel about tonight. About Bobby. Dinner went better than I expected, and I can’t deny I had a good time. I even caught myself staring at his lips and remembering what it feels like to be kissed. To be held. To sleep in a bed warmed by a man’s body.
And I hate it.
I hate that thoughts like this manage to make me feel even lonelier than I have been. I hate that Bobby is trying so hard, being so good, that I almost feel obligated to reciprocate. I hate that I can’t tell if it’s his touch I want or just a man’s touch. I hate that when I think of a man’s touch, I don’t think of Bobby, but ofhim.
A man I don’t even know.
A man that technically isn’t even a man at all.
Chapter 13
My hands areon my lap, and Bobby’s fingers briefly intertwine with mine, squeezing gently. His fingers are smooth, not rough like a certain other someone’s. And his touch may be soft, but it’s not careful or tender. His skin is warm, though it’s not the kind of heat that makes my body tingle from contact alone. When I glance up at him, he looks over and smiles. It’s innocent, friendly, yet there’s something deeper in his eyes I know I can’t match. I smile back but wiggle my hand out of his grasp, using my long hair as an excuse as I pull it back from my face, twisting it and wrapping it over my right shoulder.
I clear my throat, realizing we’re entering Ashwick Inn’s guest parking lot. “Thanks for dinner.”
He nods, putting the truck into park and cutting the engine before turning his full attention to me. “I had a good time, Lou.”
It takes me a minute to respond, but I’m sincere when I do. “Me too, Bobby.”
The silence spreads, him staring at me and me itching to squirm in my seat again. I take a deep breath. I don’t want to hurt him, especially not when he’s sobering up and pulling himself together like this. Maybe a part of me doesn’t want to completely lose him either. But I’m being selfish, and it’ll hurt him more in the end if I don’t set things straight. Just when I open my mouth to speak, he unlocks his door, stepping into the darkness and strolling around the truck.
I unbuckle and hop out before he reaches me, not needing another act of chivalry to feel guilty about. I know I shouldn’t feel guilty, or like I owe him, for any of this evening—he was right when he said he has years to make up for. That doesn’t make it any less weird for me, though.
This is a side of Bobby I haven’t seen in a long, long time.
He pulls open the inn’s front door for me, and neither of us speak as he leads me up the three flights of stairs. I stop when I get to my door, not wanting to unlock it yet in case he thinks I’m inviting him in. I can tell he wants to say something from the way he’s looking down at me, but when he still doesn’t speak, I start first.
“Look, Bobby—”
“Don’t say it, Lou.”
“But—”
He shakes his head, taking my hand in his. “We had a good time, right?”
I swallow, giving a small nod.
“Then let’s leave it at that. It doesn’t need to be complicated.”
He says that, but at the same time, he’s leaning in. It’s such a slow, natural movement that I don’t know if he’s even aware he’s doing it. I cut my eyes away, glancing at my door and clearing my throat. “Bobby . . .”
He keeps my right hand in his and brings his free hand up to my face, brushing back some strands of my hair. “I’ve missed you so much, Lou.”
There’s pain behind his voice, making it crack. I nod again and say softly, “I know.”
After a long moment of silence, he drops both his hands and takes a step away. “Can I come back sometime? See you again?”
If I thought seeing him unkempt, zoned out, and reeking of beer was hard, it’s got nothing on this. The mixture of hope, hurt, and longing is written everywhere on his face. He may not be my boyfriend anymore, but I still care about him. His well-being, his sobriety.
