“Like a date?” I ask.
We’ve both acknowledged how unfair this is on Dad, and yet we’re arranging dates anyway. We’re slapping him in the face with every single word.
But we can’t stop.
“Exactly like a date,” Silas says passionately.
“But I’m not sure I can….”
“I’ll be the lead diver,” he tells me. “Our bodies will be pressed right up against each other…I won’t let anything happen to you. Despite my reputation, I don’t take stupid risks…often, anyway.”
“That fills me with confidence,” I say ironically.
We laugh together, and it just makes me so warm, so fuzzy, and full of hope for the future.
If we can delve into so much darkness and come out laughing, surely there’s something here.
“But I’m not sure it’s my thing.”
“Trust me,” he says firmly. “I’ll keep you safe. And I know you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”
But Dad would hate us if he knew we were even talking about this.
“I trust you.” I softly guide the needle across Silas’ skin. “And yes, I’d love to come. It sounds like a….”
“A date?” he says. “You don’t have to be shy with me.”
“A date,” I say firmly.
With the man I’ve crushed on for years.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Silas
“She really is talented,” Julian says as I lift my shirt to show him the tattoo’s progress.
We’re in my office, just having concluded one of the final meetings to finish the deal. There will be no surprises now, except maybe a few disgruntled whiners who wish they could sell their customers’ data.
But other than that, we’re sailing toward the biggest win of our careers.
And I’m tarnishing it with what I’m planning to do.
Something changed between Lauren and me yesterday when we talked about Vanessa. I had finally opened up about that hellfire in my past, and it felt good.
I’m going to meet her this afternoon, a car will bring her to the helipad…and then the helicopter will take us away so we can pretend there’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing.
Lowering my shirt, I turn to Julian with a smirk on my face, wishing every moment didn’t feel so forced.
He smiles. “I’m proud of her.”
“Me too,” I say, and then cringe.
What right do I have to be proud of her, except as a family friend?
And I can’t think of myself like that when it comes to my woman. She can’t just be a family friend. She’s so much else and means so much more.
“She’s doing great,” I go on, my words rushing out.