“I don’t think I broke any hearts, no. I was too busy having a good time to slow down and commit to a relationship.”
Until he’d been too busy finding a way to live with himself to be able to commit to a relationship.
“You’ve never had a serious, committed relationship?” she probed.
“Nope.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-one. How about you?” he returned.
“Thirty-two.”
They munched veggies. His mind filled up with questions he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to have to answer any more questions. They were getting dangerously close to things he didn’t want to talk about.
“You ever see yourself getting married? Having kids?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Seriously.”
If that disappointed her, and he assumed it did, best to just get it right out there. “Seriously,” he repeated.
“You have it bad growing up?”
“No. To the contrary, I had a great childhood.” Loving parents. More money than he’d ever known. Opportunity. Fun. “I have casual relationships, just no desire for commitment or to have kids.”
Not quite the truth, but true, just the same. Part of him had the desire. Deep down. He’d always thought he’d be like his folks, fall in love for life, raise a family. Maybe a bit different, too, in that he’d wanted more than the one child they’d opted for. Maybe if he’d had siblings, hadn’t had all of his parents’ attention focused so completely on him, he wouldn’t have been so full of himself...
“Why not?” she queried.
He could see her curiosity was killing her. Wanted it to be more than that. Wanted her to want to know about him.
So maybe he should just tell her. The bigger he made it, the more it would bother her. The more she’d care about finding out.
“Because I don’t intend to have what I robbed from someone else. My sense of fair play won’t allow it.”
Chapter 8
The choice to remain alone was unequivocal. So yeah, Jayden lived and breathed when Emory didn’t, but he was using his breath to give to others, not to better his own life. He lived to serve others, not to serve his own happiness.
“What did you rob from someone else?”
Their dinner had arrived: a barbecue chicken ranch salad for her, whiskey chicken breast with a baked potato and broccoli for him.
“The chance to be happy,” he said, taking his time cutting his food.
He waited for more questions. Would figure out how to answer them, how much to tell Emma, as they came. And reminded himself why he didn’t engage in casual relationships a lot, either. People wanted to know who they were involved with.
Should know.
And he should know better. Why was he there, eating with her? Why had he opened the door to begin with?
Why was she such an enigma? She was just another coworker, not a big mystery to him.
“You said you go for casual relationships, though.”
“Occasionally.” He was a healthy man, whether he deserved to be or not.