Confusion etches her face before her blue eyes pop wide. “You lost your virginity at thirteen?”
“Grew up in a rough neighborhood. Single mother. Poor supervision.”
She nods as if she understands, but she doesn’t. How could she? She and I come from two very different worlds.
“According to your profile,” she says, “you’ve never been in a committed relationship. Does that mean you’ve never been in love?”
“Not even close.” I rub the back of my neck. “I rarely sleep with the same woman twice.”
“Why?”
If I tell her I avoid relationships because committed women are needy and boring, it’ll give her one more reason to keep me at arm’s length. Instead, I dig deep and give her a truthful, more vulnerable answer. “I’m searching for the one I want to chase forever. The one I can’t walk away from.”
Her lips part. Her eyes shine, and her perky tits rise and fall with her breaths—all of it fills me with immense pleasure. I could spend the rest of my life watching her react that way. While she’s bouncing on my cock.
“I need to go.” Reese rises from the chair. “I’ll be late for a date.”
“Chic with a plastic dick?” I ask.
“One can hope.” He walks around the island, grabs his laptop, and kisses Laynee on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
She watches him leave and shakes her head. “I should’ve known. I mean, I know he likes to be ordered around. It turns him on. But I didn’t associate that with…positioning and…sexual partners.” She scrapes a hand through her hair. “God, I can be so oblivious sometimes.”
“I know a thing or two about being oblivious.”
“You?” She laughs bitterly. “Nothing gets past you.”
I pace through the kitchen and debate the wisdom in correcting her. It would mean baring my insecurities. Maybe that’s what we both need. A little humble pie would do me good, and it might help her perceive me as something other than a threatening shadow looming over her.
Lowering onto the stool at the island, I leave enough room between my spread legs and the counter for her to stand.
“Come here.” At her hesitation, I soften my tone. “Please.”
She steps into the V of my legs and leans her butt against the counter, arms crossed over her chest.
“I had this one student at my school.” I place a hand on the edge beside her hip and rest my thumb on the waistband of her jeans. “A nine-year-old boy with a wicked-sharp sense of humor and this huge infectious smile. God, the kid was always smiling.” I swallow past a tight throat. “Then one day, he stopped smiling.”
I inch my thumb upward until I make contact with the soft skin of her waist.
She doesn’t yank my hand away, and instead slides her fingers across my shoulders. “Go on.”
“His mom lost her job. Single-parent family. Money was already tight. The kid had so much passion in the sport, and I loved teaching him.” I smile in memory. “He reminded me a lot of myself. When his mom couldn’t pay for his lessons, I took him on pro bono.” Old pain flares in my chest. “The boy’s smile never returned. I thought it was related to problems at home.”
“Decker,” she whispers, guiding my forehead to rest against her flat stomach. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I need you to understand.” Gripping her hips, I lean back to see her face. “That boy spent all his free time at my gym. It was his escape from the harsh reality of his shit life. I was his teacher, his mentor, his protector. I looked him in the eye every fucking day, and I didn’t see what was happening to him. What was happening in my own fucking gym.” Emotion roars through my veins and thickens my voice. “Do you know why he stopped smiling, Laynee?”
“Yes. I know.” She caresses my face. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I didn’t do those…unspeakable things, but I didn’t prevent it, either.”
“You stopped it, Decker. I read the reports Infidelity sent over. One of those boys trusted you enough to tell you. I know you’re the one who turned in Adam Lamont and funded the lawyers for those kids.”
My stomach cramps with remembered horror. I’ve never felt more like a failure than I did the day I learned what was happening. “I can’t do that again, Laynee. I can’t look at you and be with you and not know what’s happening to you.” I press a hand against her lower back, directly over the scar. “Tell me who hurt you.”
She stiffens. “It’s in the past.”
“It’s not.” Anger rises through my tone. “It’s right fucking here. A living, breathing thing wedged between us. I want it gone.”
“I’ve worked so hard to do exactly that.” Her voice cracks, and she pulls in a ragged breath. “It’s cost me time and job opportunities and money…so much fucking money to keep it out of the media and make it disappear.”