“Ditto,” I whisper. “You know, I never knew if I should pity my siblings or be thankful that they escaped the mad house that was the Trejo clan.”
“All we can do is hope for the best where they’re concerned,” he rumbles. “Booker has no way of tracking them to see what typeof lives they have. And he’s tried numerous times to locate them but there’s no trace of them or proof of their existence.”
“They’ve always been good at covering their tracks. I knew it’d be an impossible task for Booker when you gave him that mission. The bitch that birthed me never saw a doctor while she was pregnant nor did she have one present when she birthed them. It was a family affair.”
“Yeah, well, your family sucks,” he states.
“That they do,” I mumble, finishing the first braid and reaching over to take a bite out of my burger before wiping the grease off my hands and starting on the next one. There’s an elephant sized boulder sitting on my shoulders. We talk about bullshit as we eat and I work, but eventually, the weight feels like it’s suffocating me and I blurt out, “What did you want to talk with me about?”
“You lasted longer than I thought you would,” he says, laughing. “I’m not sure if we should talk about it while you have my hair in your hands.”
“I thought you were a tough guy,” I say, taunting him. He’s not getting out of having this conversation. Now. I can’t take it anymore and need to know what’s been on his mind in regard to us. “You can handle a little hair pulling.”
“Not sure my scalp can, though. You’re already pretty heavy-handed, Letti.”
“Is what you want to talk about something that’s going to infuriate me, Icer?”
“There she goes again,” he mutters to himself. “I’ll always know when you’re pissed at me because you revert to calling me by my road name.”
“I guess I do,” I state, not realizing until he pointed it out that it’s exactly what I do. “Guilty as charged.”
“I still don’t have all my thoughts lined up or in order, Letti. I’m not sure if I won’t jump from one thing to the other with how scrambled everything is.”
Mulling that over, I suggest, “Choose the most important thing that’s been on your mind and we’ll nitpick our way through.”
“In a nutshell, it’s us. Everything about us,” he confesses.
“That’s pretty broad, Viking.”
“Hence my dilemma. I don’t know where to start,” he says, sighing.
“Do you want me to ask questions to give us a place to start?” I ask, because I have plenty rummaging their way through my head.
“That might be for the best, Letti. I’m not great at communicating as it is. We both know it. I always stumble over my tongue.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a man of few words,” I convey, defending him.
“Then ask your first question and let’s see where it leads us,” he declares.
“First, the wholeusthing, like I said before, is pretty broad. What do you want from us, Viking? Do you want us to remain friends or do you want us to be more?”
I can hear him swallow as he spouts out, “More. But I don’t know how to do that or what it means. Riptide says you’re my girl because we do things couples do, and I feel like an assholebecause I didn’t pick up on that. And since I didn’t, I don’t know how to read you, which confounds me because it’sliterallymy role in the club to read people and act accordingly. With that said, I don’t know if that’s something you thought also or if it’s even something you want.”
“Well, that’s something I can clear up for you and it may make it easier for you to know what direction this talk needs to go. I want more, and I’d hoped that we were going out on dates and building something, but I never wanted to put pressure on either one of us so I decided to let things naturally run their course. We don’t have to rush into anything, Viking. We can let things develop without forcing a label on them.”
“What if I want to label them, Letti? What if I need that to move forward. Would you be opposed to it?” he asks, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him sound vulnerable.
“What label would you give us?” I ask, gulping and mentally crossing my fingers since my hands are otherwise occupied.
“You’re already my best friend,” he confesses. “But that’s not enough. I want you to officially be my girl, but you’ll have to tell me what all that consists of because I’m basically going into this wearing a blindfold.”
“We may have to learn what it means together,” I tell him. “It’ll be the blind leading the blind. I have no experience with relationships either. But as long as we stick together and talk things out, I think we’ll be okay.”
“Together. I like that,” he acknowledges. “Not going to lie, this petrifies me. What if we try and things don’t work out? I don’t think I could lose you and not become your stalker.”
“Stalk away,” I say, snorting, meaning every word. “I give you my permission to hound me like a dog. Because, Viking, I don’t feel like me whenever you’re not around. You brought me to life once you brought me into your house and put me in your bedroom.”
“You knew? How? How did you know this was my house, Letti?” he asks.
