It’s not okay. And I want to promise—to come out and declare—the exact opposite. That I won’t wreck him. That I’ll do everything I can to make sure no one wrecks him ever again, but I bite back the words because he won’t believe them anyway. So I’ll just have to show him. So for now I change the subject. “Are we going to tell Mackenzie about this?”
“Us?” he asks and I nod against his chest. “Yeah, I guess we have to because I intend to be around a lot and I’m pretty sure it’ll start to get obvious.”
“Should I just tell her, or do you want to? Or should we do it together like we’re starring in some awkward sit-com?” I joke, and I feel his body shake with a laugh. “No matter how we do it, I don’t think she’ll care. She likes having you around.”
“And by the time we start to turn into a bickering old couple, she’ll be living at Daphne’s on her own anyway,” he replies and I feel a tiny little void start to open up in my heart at the thought of her moving out, which jars me a little bit. “Man I wish they had a place like Daphne’s when I was a kid. Would have made life so much easier.”
“You never told me how you ended up in a group home for troubled boys,” I say and reposition myself so my hands are laced on his chest and my chin is resting on top of them. “Why did they move you there from foster care?”
His face doesn’t flicker or twitch. No frown or scowl takes over. He remains passive but his eyes change. The color seems to darken and the softness is gone, the glassy postorgasmic quality hardens. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve probably got an hour before Mac comes home.”
“I’d really rather not get into it tonight.” His tone is stern and foreboding like he’s warning me to stop. Change the subject. Let it go.
“You don’t know how I learned French, do you?”
He looks down at me finally, instead of up at the ceiling. “I assume it was a summer in Paris or a winter in the Alps or however it is that princesses get their linguistic skills.” He winks as he teases me.
I lift one of my hands and flip him the bird. He laughs. “C’est pas jolie, ca.”
I ignore his comment and tell him my mom was French Canadian.
“Quebec?” he asks, his accent in full force and it’s hot as hell.
“Oui.” I take in the happy surprise on his handsome face. “That’s where my parents—the Bennetts—adopted me from.”
I wait for him to let that information sink in. He rolls me over so he’s on top and kisses me slowly. When he pulls back he’s all mischief again. “Finally something about Quebec that I like.”
I smile at that and fight the urge to close my eyes and moan as he starts kissing his way down my neck. I can feel his cock coming to life against my thigh and as much as I would love a round two, I want to talk more. “I was in one foster home before they adopted me. How many were you in before the group home?”
“Fuck,” he says lowly and starts to untangle himself from me and stand up. I get to my knees as he swings his legs over the side of my bed, and I drop a hand on his shoulder to stop him, just above the branch of his tattoo with the single leaf. He shrugs it off though and stands up anyway. He paces for a second, running his hand through his hair, his eyes on the fluffy fake fur rug by the side of my bed. “I told you, I didn’t want to get into it.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to push. I just—”
He swears again and reaches for his jeans. “You just felt like hearing a sob story? That’s what you like after some hot sex? To make me feel weak and vulnerable. Is this what people do in a relationship? Should I make you talk about how your mom died and why you don’t have a dad?”
He’s being mean and hard, and I’m suddenly feeling like an idiot sitting here naked so I get up and grab my robe as he yanks on his jeans and reaches for his shirt.
“Ovarian cancer. That’s how she died. And I don’t have a dad because he was a sperm donor. From a clinic, not like a one-night-stand kind of sperm donor,” I explain sharply. “I’m not trying to make you feel weak or hurt you, Alex. And I wouldn’t bring up all this shit except that I think that we’ve lived through the same shit.”
“Why? Because we’re both from Quebec? Big deal. I’m sure there’s a bunch of orphans in Quebec,” he mutters, twisting his shirt in his hands. “I can name four that I lived with. Jayla, Andre, Kenny. Of course they’re all dead now. Jayla ran away because the foster monster was touching her, became a prostitute and was killed by her pimp. Kenny overdosed, and Andre was killed after he joined a gang.”
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper in horror at the pure tragedy.
“Exactly. That’s why I hate talking about it. I truly fucking hate it. So can you please just stop.”
He grabs me roughly by the waist and pulls me into him, dipping his head to bury it in my shoulder. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my mouth against his neck softly. His pulse beats rapidly under my lips. “You can talk about your past. Tell me whatever you need to or want to and I will listen but please, don’t try to dig up mine.”
I hear a noise downstairs. A rattle, a click, a thump. It’s the front door. Shit! Mackenzie is home. We both stare at each other in fear. He’s barely dressed. I’m not dressed at all. Oh crap! I put my hands on his chest and push him back into the corner of the room behind the door. “Stay here until I can distract her and then sneak out. I don’t want her to find out like this.”
He nods. I rush to my bedroom door and scurry down the hall, reaching the stairs just as she’s shrugging out of her coat and toeing off her boots. I hate that ratty coat of hers and I keep telling her I want to buy her a new one, but she doesn’t want me to. She says I’ve done enough. It’s still got the rip in it from when she hurt herself. I smile trying to look casual. “Did you have a good time with my parents?”
She nods. “They’re cool people. And your mom makes great food. She gave me cupcakes to bring home.”
She pulls a Tupperware container out of her backpack. She looks at me again, her eyes sweeping up and down, taking in my outfit. I play with the tie on my robe and lie. “I was going to take a shower.”
“Oh. Okay.” She walks past me, toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna eat another cupcake and watch TV.”
