“Yeah, he knows.”
“And everyone is… comfortable with having Vince around? I mean, no offense, but after that conversation, I wasn’t completely comfortable in the knowledge that you seated me next to a known rapist.”
“I obviously haven’t polled every woman of his acquaintance, but I’m pretty sure for Vince it was more a crime of passion than a pattern of behavior. Being around Mia just makes him crazy.”
Hmm, she makes Vince crazy, and Rafe has had a crush on her for a while. Only because she’s a perfect crutch for him, but still. “Are there others?” I inquire.
“Others?”
“Other men who want her?”
Rafe glances over at me, taking another read, I think. He’s worried I’ll become jealous of Mia and turn on her, and he doesn’t want to say anything to push me in that direction. That alone tells me she’s important to him, but that’s not a bad thing. Whatever their history, whatever his interest in her, since she is married to his cousin, they’re family now. Of course he cares about his family. Anyway, I’m not interested in being catty about a happily married woman who is no threat to me whatsoever, and I’m not so insecure as to resent her for attracting Rafe’s attention. Lots of women have attracted his attention. Not as many have held onto it the way she has, but that’s more his fault than hers. He has positioned her on a pedestal the same way I have positioned him on one, so I completely understand. In any case, Mia is not a threat to either one of us, and I know his feelings for her are not her fault.
I offer him a pleasant smile, reassuring him that he needn’t worry about my claws coming out. “Just curious.”
“We’re the only ones who have ever had her,” he states, his tone intentionally even. “I think Mateo’s best friend wants to fuck her, too, but they all deny it. He doesn’t like me much, either. To be fair, I’m not entirely sure he likes anyone.”
I nod my head, glancing out the window as we slow down for a stop sign. “She must touch a lot of lives. I can’t wait to meet her and see what she’s like.”
A heavy silence falls, and I don’t expect Rafe to say much after that. On one hand, I want to reassure him that one more notch on his headboard doesn’t make a difference to me, but on the other, I brought Mia up for a reason, and I don’t want to navigate back into murky waters where either of us would have to touch the question: why does it even matter to me, anyway? I’m not his girlfriend, I’m not even his potential girlfriend; I am his waitress.
I’m so distracted by my own thoughts, it takes me a minute to realize we are still sitting at the stop sign. I cast a questioning look in Rafe’s direction. His hand is on the wheel, he’s looking forward with dark eyes set below furrowed brows, but still, he doesn’t accelerate.
Finally, he looks over at me. “I like being able to tell you things. I like that you don’t get mad.”
His praise, especially so haltingly delivered from a man so unshakably sure of himself, hits my veins with the intensity of a designer drug. My heart hammers in my
chest, does a little flip, then falls back in a faint, like an impossibly dramatic cartoon character. A helpless little smile tugs at my mouth. “Why would I get mad? I like hearing about your life. I like hearing your thoughts and feelings, likes and dislikes, what impresses you, what catches your attention… what turns you on,” I add, even though it’s a terrible idea. I look away after that, unable to hold his gaze. “I didn’t start living the day I met you, so I wouldn’t expect you only started living when you met me. Everyone has a past, Rafe. Everyone has secrets.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice low with interest. “What are yours?”
I clutch my gingerbread purse a little closer to my body and toss him a light, mysterious smile. “Maybe someday you’ll find out.”
“Maybe someday, huh?” he asks, finally pressing on the accelerator and moving us past this damn stop sign.
“If you’re lucky,” I tease.
11
Virginia
There is a song Elvis Costello sings called This is Hell. The song is a pretty apt description of life trapped inside my head so I’ve listened to it many times over, but as I stand stationary in Rafe’s bedroom and watch him stand by his bed and strip off his shirt with comfortable familiarity, it starts replaying in my head like the radio from Hell. There’s a tinkling, whimsical sound in the background, something like a child’s music box—is that what it is? Instruments are not my specialty, but that doesn’t sound like any instrument I can think of. It’s a strange thing to get caught up on, but now I want to look it up.
I should. Looking at my phone would be much safer than looking at Rafe’s back muscles flexing as he stands with his back to me and unbuckles his belt. Dear God, this man’s back. I want to kneel, light candles, and pray to it. I want to press my face against it and feel his heat.
Desire drops into my gut and I have a hard time not walking over there and touching him. Especially because I know he’d touch me back.
I need to leave. This was a terrible idea.
Rafe draws his belt off, fists it in his hand, and looks back at me. “You’re allowed to move, you know?”
“I really like this spot,” I inform him, looking down at my feet, planted firmly against the floor. “It’s a good location. I think I’ll sleep right here.”
His lips curve up faintly. “Standing up?”
“Yep. I know sleep generally requires relaxing the muscles that keep me upright, but I feel like challenging my body, seeing what it’s capable of enduring.”
“I know much more fun ways of doing that,” he informs me casually.