No Perfect Hero(33)

There it is. The first shot fired.

I clench my jaw, looking away, swearing I won't give in. “Thought you were so charmed by Heart’s Edge you wanted to put down roots?”

“Nah. This isn’t somewhere I’ll stay, even if it’s pretty. I need bigger digs for art.” She quirks her lips. “Though I don’t know where the hell I’m going now. I guess Chicago’s still the goal...but I’ve got to make contingency plans for what’ll happen when I get there.”

“You taking the kid all the way out there with you?”

“Don’t know. Depends on how long I’m here.” With a grim smile, she takes a deep swig of her beer. “For all I know, it’ll take me years to save up enough to get out. Rent isn't cheap in the Windy City. Maybe I’ll grow into the walls. Then even if I don’t mean to put down roots, I’ll be stuck here long before you run away again.”

I growl. “What makes you think I’m gonna cut and run?”

“Call it a hunch,” she says. “People who try to chase others off are usually doing it to save themselves the trouble.”

“Bullshit. I think you’re projecting,” I mutter against the mouth of my bottle. “If anyone’s running, it’s you. You really think dropping everything and taking off across the country will fix all your problems?”

“Considering my biggest problem was a man who can’t keep his dick in his pants, yeah,” she flings back. “What Eddy did isn’t my fault. And you can’t blame me for wanting as much space between me and him as possible. Won't fix my issues because moving can’t make him a better man, but a fresh start never hurt anyone.”

I sigh, pressing my cold beer against my forehead. The hot tub is starting to feel too warm, and I can’t tell if it’s my rising temper or just the heat of having her close. She turns me all around, and I keep saying the wrong thing.

“Look, I didn’t mean—” I break off, cursing. “Your fiancé was shit-scum, okay? That’s not your fault. Not in the slightest. I didn’t mean to imply it was. Sorry, Hay.”

She doesn’t say anything.

It’s unnerving, the silence, this screaming empty thing that says something’s wrong, but I almost don’t want to look when Haley has her pride. If I look at her right now, it might just gouge her in all the wrong ways.

But after a couple more wordless minutes, I risk a glance, suddenly wishing this fucking feeling I get around her would be strong enough so she’d let me reach out, touch her, comfort her.

She’s staring out across the deck toward the cliff and the mountains. Her hair is damp at the tips and clinging to her shoulders, beads of splashed water on her cheeks and her lips, but it’s not water gleaming in her eyes.

It’s the beginning beads of tears, her mouth trembling, her expression taut and pensive. Barely hard to tell she’s not seeing anything.

Not me, not seeing the starry skyline, not the water.

Nothing but the memory of a selfish pissant who made her cry because he couldn’t treat her like a human being.

“You know, that’s one thing he never said,” she whispers, finally. “He was all slick, easy charm and friendly smiles, got along with everyone. And I can’t think of a single time he ever apologized. You’re the biggest fucking prick I’ve ever met – no offense – but at least you know how to say you’re sorry. You even sound like you mean it sometimes.”

“I do.” I smile faintly. “I gotta have one or two redeeming qualities, right? I’d rather be an honest prick than a lying nice guy.”

“Seems like any guy who claims to be nice is lying.” She sniffles roughly, then lets out a shaky laugh and scrubs an arm across her nose. “Ugh, the steam's making my eyes water.”

Sure. The steam.

I may be a swinging prick and a half, but I’m not going to embarrass a woman in distress. Let her have her pride.

“Hey,” I say, searching for a distraction. “Truth or dare.”

She blinks at me quizzically, wiping at the wet beads spiking her lashes. “Truth or what?”

“It’s a thing. When I was a kid, me and my friends would steal Grandma’s beers and hang out in the hot tubs in the empty cabins during the slow seasons. We’d watch the stars and play truth or dare. So I’m inaugurating you into a Heart’s Edge tradition, but that means you have to pick. Truth or dare?”

Another blink, before a slow, almost shy smile dawns on her lips. “Truth. I don’t know if I trust you with dares. You’ve got too much practice at this, apparently.”

“Aw, like I’d make you do anything terrible on a dare.”

No. Never.

Just maybe ask her to slip that top down, those little bikini straps grazing down her shoulders, just enough to tease my – nah.

I’m not going to be that kind of guy. And I tear myself from tracing my gaze over the curve of her shoulder, focusing myself on my beer. “All right. Truth. Did you slash your ex’s tires before you left?”

Her sudden burst of laughter comes out startled, delighted. “No!”

“Did you want to?”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Grinning, she points at me. “That’s two questions, Warren. Save that one for your next round. Your turn. Truth or dare?”