I pulled my hand back and feigned indignation. “Yes, I did. The middle of those things are like molten lava when they’re hot. And me and this particular Pop-Tart had a run-in.”
His eyes danced with amusement. “We really need to keep you out of the kitchen.”
I shrugged. “So I cook the way you drive. Whatever.”
He laughed.
“Hey,” I said, after a moment. “I’m sorry she was insulting. It was meant to hurt me, not you.”
He held his glass on the table. “You’re very different around her.”
Yes. Because she has the key to every room.
I’d never been able to keep her out.
Or lock her in.
I let out a long breath. “It’s like the second I’m in her presence, I’m six years old, disappointing her at her dinner party with my Mozart concerto.”
“How long did you play the piano?”
I reached down and pulled the backs off my heels. “Fifteen years. Every day for three hours, six days a week. Sunday was for tennis and whatever other activity she made me do.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Why did you stop?”
“I stopped because she forced it on me.”
He took a drink. “Were you any good?”
“Well, I’d hope so. You spend three hours a day doing anything for fifteen years, you better be good at it,” I said, eating an olive.
I would play for him if he asked. And I didn’t play for anyone.
Piano was symbolic for me. The shackles of my childhood, the chain I cast off when I finally had some control of my own life. Picking it up again, even though I was good at it, felt like acknowledging that her tyranny had merit. So my stilled fingers were my rebellion.
But for Josh? To have him look at me with admiration? I would play for Josh.
It was such an odd feeling wanting him to be impressed with me but simultaneously hoping he didn’t like me too much.
“You got into Harvard? And you were in law school?” he asked.
I sighed. “Yes. I didn’t see why I had to leave Sloan to go to Massachusetts just to get a degree I didn’t even want. So I went to UCLA. I was in my first year of law school when I dropped out. Obviously my mom was pissed about it,” I mumbled into my coffee cup.
“You didn’t want to be a lawyer?” He gave me a dimpled grin. “Arguing for a living? You? You were born for it.”
I smirked. “I prefer to argue for fun.”
Plus it had been too hard sitting in classes as my periods got worse and worse. The cramps, the anemia. Working from home was just easier on me. And I enjoyed having my own business. I was finally having fun with my life.
“Your mom is older than I pictured. How old is she?” he asked.
“Sixty-seven. She got pregnant with me when she was forty-three. A complete shock. She didn’t think she could get pregnant.” She’d had the same issues I did but less severe. “I basically ruined her life. Her career, her retirement plans—all put on hold.”
I’d been a twin. She’d lost my brother in the fourth month of her pregnancy. If she had to be stuck with a baby, at least it could have been the boy so my dad could pass down the family name. But no. She’d gotten the girl instead. I disappointed her before I was even born.
How differently Josh and I had grown up. His parents had tried for a boy. He was exactly what they wanted when he came. And he was probably loved and cherished by every member of his family.
Like he was loved and cherished by me.
We were watching each other. Enjoying one of our comfortable silences. He was adorable. His hair was a little messy, his T-shirt tight over his broad chest.
For a moment I thought about whether or not I could keep doing this. I didn’t know if I could. Because even if I was successful at keeping him from loving me, I was failing miserably at not loving him.
I thought about waking up with my face pressed against his heart this morning, how he’d managed to finagle himself into my room last night.
Josh was my drug, my dealer, and that really toxic friend who’s always pushing you into breaking your sobriety.
He was like that puppy that you swear will never sleep in the bed. It’s so fucking cute, but you have to be the pack leader and lay down the law. Then it starts crying from the laundry room and you end up giving in the very first night.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Drug dealers and puppies in laundry rooms.”
He laughed. “Of course you are.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking that your dad must have been pretty cool.” He took another sip of his Bloody Mary.
“What makes you think that?”
He shrugged. “A hunch. You lost your dad, right?”
“Yeah. When I was twelve. He had a heart attack. A few months before I met Sloan.”
“What was he like?”
A little like you.
I let out a slow breath. “He was fun. And laid back. You’d have to be to live with a woman like that. He was a literature professor.”
Mom had listened to him. He softened her. And when he died, she’d gone from difficult to impossible.
Our food arrived, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t want to talk about me anymore.
My Spanish omelet actually looked pretty good. I pushed my hash browns over with the side of my fork and moved the toast so nothing touched.
“What’s your family like?” I asked.
He grinned and puffed air from his cheeks. “Well, let’s see. My parents are insanely in love. Dad worships the ground Mom walks on. They’ve got twelve grandkids so far, so holidays back home are like a Greek wedding. My sisters are all fiercely independent and competitive with each other. They fight over pretty much everything, but they’re super cliqued up. Right now they’re all united in their crusade to get me to move back home.”
He salted his eggs. “Hey, Tyler didn’t let her talk to you like that in front of him, did he?”
I took my first bite. It was perfect. I felt my mood improve almost immediately. “No. She didn’t talk to me like that with him. She liked him.”
It had been a reprieve. I’d finally done something right.
“Why?” he asked, putting ketchup on his hash browns.
“Tyler was sophisticated. She liked that.”
“Oh,” he said flatly, and I realized what I had implied.
But Josh wasn’t sophisticated. He didn’t like the theater—he liked movies, like I did. He preferred hunting, not art galleries. Pizza and beer to tapas and wine.
And he was perfect.