One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(60)

“Two peanuts were walking in a rough area. One was a salted.”

“That’s it! I’m never sleeping with you again.”

“Fine. I’m done.” His voice is strangled, like he’s trying desperately to hold in a laugh.

Glancing over, I see his lips are clamped together to hide his smile.

“Oh, just say it,” I grumble. “I’m worried your brain will explode if you hold it in any longer.”

He laughs. “Never trust atoms. They make up everything.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re hot. Otherwise, you’d have no redeeming qualities.”

“If I wasn’t weighted down by so many groceries right now, I’d probably kiss you.”

“If you weren’t such a pain in the ass, I’d definitely let you.”

“Just for that, I’m not making you a kale smoothie when we get to your place.”

“Considering I don’t have a blender, you’re not making anyone a kale smoothie.”

“God, it’s like dating a heathen.”

“Except, we aren’t dating.”

He shakes his head in faux disgust. “Diet of pure sugar, no working heat, doors that don’t lock… I know how Jane felt when she met Tarzan. Except, obviously, I look much more dashing in a petticoat than Jane.”

I raise my brows. “Not even going to touch that one.”

“You said you love kids’ movies. Figured you’d appreciate the reference.”

We’re almost back at my building. “Yeah, well, Tarzan was never my favorite. I was all about Beauty and the Beast.”

“Let me guess.” His brows waggle. “You wanted a beast to call your own?”

“Um, no.” I punch in the code to the outer door and follow him inside. “I wanted the cool-as-shit castle with the talking furniture, huge library, and enchanted closets. Obviously.”

“Ah.” He grins at me as we wait for the elevator to return, clanging and groaning as it descends down the shaft. “Phoebe loved that one, too. She made me watch it a thousand times with her when she was seven. And then they made the damn Christmas-themed sequel, which wasn’t nearly as good.”

I bite my lip to keep in a laugh.

Playboy billionaire Parker West is discussing Disney movies with me.

It takes a moment for that to sink in.

Parker sighs. “The snow, all the decorations on the damn castle… I think that’s why she’s so obsessed with Christmas, to be honest. I place one hundred percent of the blame on Disney.”

I slide up the wooden lift gate and wait for the heavy metal doors to edge open. “Good to know.”

“Speaking of Christmas, you never answered my question.”

“Hmm?” I follow him into the elevator and slide my key into the panel. The car jolts into motion.

“Earlier, in the store, I asked what you’re doing tomorrow.”

I stare hard at the illuminated buttons on the panel. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes.” He pauses. “Christmas Eve. Prequel to the most widely-celebrated holiday in our nation. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“Ah.” I swallow and keep my eyes averted. When the doors slide open, I step into the loft and practically run to the kitchen. “So, yeah, you can put those anywhere. I suppose I’ll have to make room in my fridge for your healthy crap — that moldy banana is taking up so much space—”

“Zoe.”

Damn. He’s using his quiet voice. That gentle, cajoling one that makes me shiver and sigh at the same time.

I look over at him. He’s dropped the grocery bags on the counter and is staring at me with questions swimming in his eyes.

“You want to tell me about it, or you wanna keep pretending it’s not an issue until it breaks you down?” He steps toward me, eyes wide with trust. “Your call, darling. But you should know, whenever that happens — you falling apart — whether it’s right now or tomorrow or next week or next year… if you’ll let me, I’ll be here to pick up the pieces.”

And just like that, for the first time in years, staring at this man who never pushes or pries, this man who’s just there for me even when I don’t deserve it… maybe especially when I don’t deserve it… I feel the damn floodgates crack wide open and tears spill down my cheeks in a relentless torrent of bottled-up despair.





14





The Lone Wolf




Once I start crying, I can't seem to stop.

I weep and weep and weep until my throat is burning and my lungs are aching, until there isn't a single ounce of moisture left behind my stinging eyes. I weep for all the years I never allowed myself to, for all the days when I didn't have the luxury of falling apart. Because you can’t cry when you’re sleeping on a cot in a church basement surrounded by strangers. You can’t let it show how much it hurts when your foster mother turns a blind eye to her husband’s wandering hands. You can’t be meek or weak when there’s a whole world of wolves out there, circling in the darkness, picking off the sheep one by one.

You do the only thing you can do: You become a wolf, too.

A wild thing.

It’s better to have battle scars and sharp edges than wind up dinner on a predator’s table.