Wherever It Leads(38)

“How do you know that?”

“Because someone told me love doesn’t exist.”

“And someone told me it does. So I’d say the potential is there. I mean, look at me.”

I giggle and snuggle into the blankets and watch his eyes twinkle. “What?”

“I was just thinking how fun these last few days have been.”

“They have been, huh?”

He reaches out and brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “More than I even imagined.”

There’s a question that’s been on my mind and the time has never been right to ask it. The opportunity is wide open now, but I’m afraid of the response. I know my heart has bridged the gap from straight-up rebound to someone I could imagine seeing again, and his answer could feel like salt in an open wound if I don’t watch it. Taking a deep breath, I go for it anyway.

“Do you do this a lot?” I ask, my words out in a rush before I change my mind.

“Do what a lot?”

“Do this? Take a girl on a weekend.”

Whether he means to or not, he leans away a number of inches. He seems to consider his reply before giving it to me. “Not a lot. I have before, though.”

“Girlfriends? Or girls you met when you found their phones?” I try to make light of the situation, even though there’s a lump I cannot deny sitting squarely in the middle of my throat.

He grins. “You’re the first girl I’ve met in the produce department. But I’ve brought . . . I wouldn’t call them girlfriends, exactly. More like dates, I guess, along on trips.”

“Why dates?”

He shrugs, settling into the pillows. A mood settles over his face, a more somber one than I’ve seen this evening. “I don’t really have girlfriends.”

My spirits sink and I mentally chastise myself for that.

He’s a rebound, Brynne. Re. Bound.

“Relationships mean a commitment and that means I can’t do whatever I want. Not other women, because I have no problem with monogamy. Just that I have to be responsible to that person. I can’t come and go as I please. It lends some idea to the belief that there might be more in the future, like marriage or something, and that’s all more than I’ve ever wanted to manage. I just want to work and have fun when time allows,” he shrugs, looking at me cautiously. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not at all.”

Even though I say that, it is a bad thing. Because even though he’s a rebound, a part of me really enjoyed being with him and hoped, secretly, maybe, that I would see him again after this. Really, though—I’m not sure if I could handle just seeing him occasionally.

“Why do I feel like an * now?” he asks.

“I have no clue,” I laugh, more to keep the conversation light than anything.

He laughs and kisses me gently, a soft, leisurely motion that stirs the butterflies in my stomach. His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb stroking my jaw, as he tries to interrupt the conversation. I let him and enjoy the sensation of being enjoyed.

“So you don’t want a girlfriend, which I understand,” I lie. “So who do you spend time with? You said before you don’t have a lot of friends either.”

“No one, really.”

The way his eyes fall makes my heart go right along with it. The loneliness is palpable, and I wonder why he chooses that, because he clearly does. Anybody would love to be around him. There’s nothing not to love.

“No one?” I whisper, treading lightly at the look on his face. “Really, Fent?”

“I didn’t have friends growing up. I was the outcast for a lot of reasons. I didn’t fit in with the other kids and they never accepted me. So I spent time by myself or with my parents.” He pauses and gazes into the distance. “My dad would take me on these hunting trips a couple of times a year. It was just me and him in the wilderness. My mom insisted we take the meat and donate it to a homeless shelter or to a tribe or whatever where we were. So we did that. Other times of the year, Mom would take me, like I told you, to the ballet and musicals and to the things she loved. I was their friend and they were a helluva lot more interesting than the kids my age, jacking off to Playboy. Not that I didn’t do that too,” he winks.

I want to wrap him up in my arms and kiss away the pain that I know is buried just under the surface. Fenton is so dynamic and social; it must be so difficult to be alone all the time. It’s heartbreaking to consider.

“So you have no family or friends at all?” I ask, praying for him to admit to an aunt or cousin or something.

He shakes his head. “Technically, I guess, but I’m not close to them in an everyday kind of way. They don’t live near me and our lives don’t really cross more than once or twice a year—if that.”

My mind immediately goes to my parents and Brady and Presley and my chest tightens for him. I can’t imagine my life without my family.

“You must be really lonely,” I say wistfully.

“I miss my parents, of course. But really,” he takes a deep breath, “I like it better this way than having someone hold me back or tie me down. And,” he grins, “There’s no one in my life that can question me. I make the rules.”

Beaming, I roll back onto my side. He looks confused and it makes me giggle.