“What?” I jerked back, alarmed. Nothing good ever came from those words.
“When you said I’m the best man you’ve ever known...I’m not. I’m not a good man.”
“Oh?”
I did not like where this was heading.
“When my mom died, my old man had been fucking around, getting arrested, and I had no one to tell me what I should or shouldn’t have been doing. My dad tried from time to time, but I wasn’t about to listen to him. I was so fucking angry all the damn time.” He traced the bump on his nose. “Got my nose broken the first time when I was nine. Again at ten. By eleven, I was breaking noses. At twelve, I’d boosted my first car, smoked my first joint. At thirteen, I was breaking into houses, got a girl pregnant.”
When I gasped, he shook his head. “She didn’t keep it. She was only fourteen. We were both dumb little shits who had no idea what we were doing. Obviously. Anyway, by the time I was sixteen, I’d racked up a thick juvie record, my arms were covered in shitty tattoos, and the chip on my shoulder was the size of Alaska. Pops had cleaned up his act and met Alicia, but I still didn’t give a damn. My old man always told me life didn’t owe me anything, but I thought it did. Taking my mom like that? Giving me a screw-up dad who cheated on her, which sent her out that night she got into the accident… Yeah, life fucking owed me.”
“But those are all things you did when you were a kid. Why do you think you’re not a good man now?”
It broke my heart to think of him that way, scared, angry, alone in the world.
“I think I make better choices now. But that’s fundamentally who I am.”
“Why are you tellin’ me this? Are you tryin’ to get me to break up with you?”
I backed away from him, scooted until I sat up, the sheet tucked under my arms. Quick as a flash, Santiago sat up too, cupping my face in his hands.
“No. I’m telling you because I need you to know what you’re getting into. I don’t want you idealizing me when I am anything but ideal. I still make shit choices, still get in fights when I can’t help it, still have a chip. I want you, Maeve. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I don’t want you to run from me six months down the line when you realize I’m still this dirtbag kid on the inside.”
“A few minutes ago, I felt closer to you than anyone. I thought you felt the same. Now, all I see is you pushin’ me away.” I leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the first piece of clothing I could find. I hated that it was Santi’s shirt, which smelled exactly like him, but I slipped it over my head anyway. This conversation was not meant to be had while naked.
“Why are you putting clothes on? Thinking of running already?”
I slapped the mattress. “No, you douchenozzle. You’re the onetryin’to make me run. I already knew most of that stuff. It’s not like I can’t look at you and read your history on your bumpy nosy and scarred knuckles and terrible tattoos. You know how I spent my formative years? Lyin’. I lied constantly, to everyone. Does that make me a liar now? Untrustworthy? Tell me. Am I the sum of the decisions I made before I was old enough to even consider I might one day be sittin’ in bed with the man I was starting to love, discussing if we were even worthy of that love? I sure as hell hope not.”
He blinked, let his hands drop from my face, scrubbed his jaw. “I trust you completely.”
“And I think you’re the best man I know. To be fair, I’ve spent a lot of time in seedy bars, so…” I gave him a half-grin—half was all he deserved.
“You’re starting to love me?” he asked, drawing each word out like he’d never said them before.
“I lied a little. Oh shit, I guess I am a liar.”
He cocked his head, frowning. “You’renotstarting to love me?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Not starting. I am.”
“Loving me?”
“Yes.” My nod was curt, serious. As much as I teased him, I wasn’t kidding about this, and I wanted that to be clear.
He exhaled, shoulders slumping. His face telegraphed his confusion.
“I love you, Santiago. You can’t talk me out of it. I know my own mind, and that’s what’s stuck in there. Me, lovin’ you. Not idealizing you—you can be a real dickpickle. I don’t know where you came up with the idea that I’m only seein’ the good parts of you. I’ve been trapped on a bus with you for almost two months and—”
He slanted his mouth over mine, giving me the softest most gentle kiss ever known. It was perfect, all lips and sweet sighs. Rough knuckles skimmed my cheeks and shoulders, and his lips moved around my face, ending on my secret favorite place, my eyelids.
“I love you too.” Again, he dragged the words out, like he’d never said them before.
My eyelids fluttered open, soft breaths escaping from my well-kissed lips. “I had a feeling you did.”
A smile spread across his face. “Tell me about all the ways I’ve been a dickpickle.”
Laughing, I laid my head on his shoulder. “Oh, I think you know.”
He chuckled and reached for the hem of my T-shirt. “Yeah, I do.” He threw the shirt clear across the room and took my bare breast in his hand. “Guess I’m lucky you like it.”
We collapsed onto the bed and into each other. My last thought before Santiago did the thing with his tongue that erased all the other coherent thoughts in my head was:please don’t let this be too good to be true.