Page 60 of Legs

“The bastard tried to hit me.” Jimmy practically spat the words. “I was bigger than him, stronger, but he was so mad he raised his palm to backhand me across the face.”

He pulled away, releasing my neck to scrub his own. His body bristled with anger. “When I caught his wrist, he was livid. Called me a mistake. A disappointment. Told me no son of his would marry an enemy. The whole thing was surreal, like we’d spun the clock back to the sixteenth century. But he meant every word, and my mother listened to the whole damn thing. Aside from yelling at him once to stop, she let it play out. Neither of them called afterward, not that I would have answered. I had Sophia and, as far as I was concerned, she was enough. Until she fucked me over, too.”

He dropped his head, as though the weight of his confession pressed on his shoulders. When he looked up, his eyes were a river of pain. “They discarded me like trash. Who does that to their kid? And why does it still hurt?”

Heart breaking for him, I pushed the bowl of grapes aside and straddled his lap. “Because you still love them. They’re your parents, your family, and you still care.” I pulled his head to my chest and pushed my fingers through his hair. “You might not be ready to forgive them now, but maybe in time, you will. Maybe, if you have a family one day, you’ll want your kids to meet their grandparents.”

He fisted the back of my shirt and buried his face in my neck, but he didn’t reply.

My lingering guilt bloomed. He was right, earlier, saying he wasn’t the bad guy. My father had loved me. We may have had arguments, and I’d thrown a tantrum or fifty growing up, but I’d never questioned my place in my family. To be told you weren’t wanted could push anyone over the edge. Add losing your livelihood and love, and it was no wonder Jimmy shut them out.

If his mother called now, I’d probably give her a piece of my mind. Nice Rachel would let Reckless Rachel loose.

But there’d been regret in Alena’s voice. She missed her son, and his father might have come around, too. It was still possible for her to ease Jimmy’s pain. For that, I would help any way I could. Jimmy couldn’t be pushed, but if the situation presented itself, I’d find a way to bridge the gap between them.

There was still one question left to ask. Something that had been gnawing at me. “Sophia…” I said hesitantly. “Did you ask her to marry you because you loved her, or were you trying to upset your father?”

Jimmy pulled back and stiffened. His hands ceased coasting along my spine. “Why would you ask that?”

“It’s just, I don’t—”

“Forget I asked,” he said, cutting me off. His cheeks hollowed, shadows darkening his face. “Sophia is in the past. We’re over. What happened is done.”

Like after the grocery store incident, he was shutting down, unable to relive that time of his life. It was unhealthy, and if I had to guess, I’d say aggravating his father had had something to do with that relationship. I’d walked the “provoke your parents” path. Dating Gabe had intrigued me, but he was more of a symbol. A way to prove my independence. If my father hadn’t died, if I hadn’t spent the last five years living the life I believed he and my mother had wanted, I’d probably look a lot more like Jimmy—riding a motorcycle, piercings hidden under my clothes.

Bad Boy and I were more similar than I’d realized.

He would need to face what had happened eventually, maybe own some part of the disaster. A mountain we’d climb another day. Our night had been intense enough, and I still had apologizing to do. With my body.

I shifted my hips, a subtle rocking that had him gripping my sides and pulling me closer. He thickened between my legs, and air hissed through his teeth. We lost ourselves in each other. Our fight, my job stress, his family drama, and all he couldn’t face—everything faded, the only tangible feelings being our connection. And desire. And a pinch of ohmyfuckingGod.

Nineteen

Rachel

I was a new woman. Well, not new, new. I still had my wash-and-wear wardrobe. My straight hair hadn’t gained unexpected volume. There was still no career on the horizon. But my hips swayed when I walked, a perma-smile plastered on my face. I was sickeningly happy.

The treadmill pushed me into a slow jog, my arms pumping at my sides. Ainsley and Gwen were finishing their yoga class, and I was humming along to One Direction (because I was twenty-seven going on sixteen), my mind on the man responsible for my current state of bliss, Jimmy Bad Boy Giannopoulos.

It had been two weeks to the day since we’d fought and kissed in the rain and gotten dirty in his shower. Two weeks of (holy hot) sex and (heart melting) talks and (delicious) sleepovers. We flirted openly at the contest sessions now and held hands on the street. The more time we spent together, the more I craved, never questioning my feelings, never caring if I slipped from proper to wild. I hung out with him at Rudy’s Tavern; he picked me up on his motorcycle from the gym. We’d effortlessly slotted into each other’s lives.

“The boy situation, looks like things are good.”

I started at the gruff voice and gripped the handrails. “George. I didn’t notice you.”

911 was on the treadmill beside mine, a common occurrence these days. We’d built a friendship of sorts. I’d berate him for not dieting, and he’d ask me about my “boy.” Never pushing his opinion on me, only passing the time. I had a tendency to overshare. I’d told him about Jimmy’s love of wine and how we could talk for hours or not talk, and how Jimmy surprised me with another picnic last week—that one on my apartment floor, blanket down, fresh pasta made by his strong hands. I didn’t share how my bad boy had pushed up my skirt and used his talented tongue until I was incoherent, but George had become an unlikely confidant.

“What makes you think things are good?” I asked.

He started the machine himself, even using the incline. He increased his speed. “The look in your eyes. That is the look of love.”

I couldn’t fight my giddy smile. “Maybe,” I said, unwilling to analyze the extent of my happiness. I hadn’t even told the girls how hard I’d fallen for Jimmy. My feelings were intense, but something kept me from sharing those three words with him. Fear, maybe, that the second I let it all flood out, it would drown me.

George marched, his focus on the windows in front of us. Pedestrians strolled by. “Nonsense. I may be old, but I know love. Thirty-two years ago today, I married the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Reverence coated his voice, love for his wife evident in his husky tone. “It’s your anniversary, then?”

He nodded, and I slowed my treadmill, matching his speed. Each year on my parents’ anniversary, my father used to book a hotel room. He would buy my mother flowers and treat her to a fancy dinner. She would walk on air for a month afterward. He died a week before their twenty-fifth year. When the hotel emailed to confirm the booking, my mother’s keening could be heard across the city.