Page 85 of Hard to Hold

“So am I.” Rush’s fingertips play idly over my bare skin beneath the bubbles. There’s a comfortable ease to us here that I’m going to miss when we go back to Johnny’s and remember that we’re not supposed to be together. And as if on cue, he asks, “Is there a reason you haven’t asked me to switch over to KSM and let you represent me?”

“Several, but the main one is that I’m not working right now, and therefore I don’t want to talk about work.”

“I can respect that, but I also think we need to talk about it at some point.”

I take his hand in between both of mine and play with his fingers as I try to figure out my next words to say. “Are we going to ignore that I’ve done a lot of talking this weekend and you haven’t done much?”

“I’ve done plenty.” He chuckles. “I’ve called your name. I’ve called God several times.”

I turn so I can punch him playfully in the shoulder. “That’s not exactly what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“If I were to ever be your agent . . .” Shit. I twist my lips and try to figure out how to say what I need to say. “Look, I’m not a spill-your-heart-out kind of girl, Rush, and yet when it comes to you, I’ve spilled more than is normal for me. So—”

“So you’re expecting tit for tat.”

“Not necessarily, but I don’t like feeling . . . exposed. Vulnerable. I guess that’s the best way to describe it.”

This is not working. I’m fumbling big time.

“And why’s that? How did I make you feel vulnerable?”

“There you go turning the conversation back on me again.”

“What is it you want to know?”

“Nothing. Everything. Something.”

He laughs. “Talk about giving me the third degree. I’ve told you. I come from a shit upbringing. No dad, Mum died, and then I got the scholarship at the academy at age fifteen, signed my first contract at sixteen.”

“All things I could have looked up and most likely found on the Internet.” I sigh. “If you lost your mom, then who were you with until you received the scholarship? Family?”

“No one.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “When I mean times were tough, I mean times were really tough. I got by and did what I had to do until I got the scholarship.”

“Oh my God. Rush. I had no idea—”

“Look. I don’t need your pity. I had some luck on my side. I had a teammate’s family take me in. It all turned out in the end. It’s not worth talking about.”

“I’m not giving you pity. I’m just—”

“So, what is it you want to know?” he asks. This clearly makes him uncomfortable. “That I hate sushi, and tequila is the one alcoholic drink I refuse to touch? One bad night was enough for me with that shit. That I like loud music and started out knowing how to use my fists more than my feet? Or is it that I like my schedule and routine, and being here in the States makes me feel out of sorts, so while I’m enjoying my time here, I can’t wait to get back?” He lifts me from his lap and shrugs as he moves to the other side of the spa. “Is that good enough, because we all don’t have mums and dads and memories galore that form us. My memories are of training and then more training.”

“Or maybe it’s that I’m sharing your bed but you haven’t said a word about the Esme situation and whatever the hell happened to cause it.”

And in that split second, I know I made an egregious error by the immediate stiffening of his spine. So of course, I try to overcorrect. “It’s only natural for me to ask. I mean, don’t I—”

“Don’t you what? Have I asked you the names of the people who’ve occupied your bed, Lennox? Have I asked you for details about your sex life and how each man has come into it?”

“Rush—”

“I thought we were enjoying each other. I thought you knew the kind of man I was or else you wouldn’t have pursued this—whatever this is—with me.”

“That’s not what I meant. You took it all wrong,” I say, scrambling to fix the assumption he made. How he assumed I was asking about if he slept with Esme instead of . . . instead of . . . I’m not sure what I was asking other than I want him to confide in me what happened, who the photo is of. I want to feel like he trusts me as much as I’ve blindly put my trust in him.

But before I can get the words out, he speaks. “I should have guessed.” His sigh that follows is like a dagger in my chest.

“Figured what?” I ask, immediately on the defensive.