Page 75 of Tell Me You Love Me

Anger, I can deal with. Rage is even better. I can handle her tears—most of the time—and fuck knows, I can be what she wants when she’s wet and needy.

But pity… pity is where men go to die.

“I think we could use the next little while to learn to get along,” she murmurs. “To be in the same space and be friends.”

“We are in the same space. We’re even getting along.”

“You’re trying to wear me down.” She lays her hand on my chest, predicting my next move. “We need to learn how to coexist, but not be together.”

“I disagree.”

“For the sake of your happiness,” she groans. “We both know it’s the right thing to do. And of course, it’s not going to be fun at first. No onelikes change.”

Oh, you mean like how you left ten years ago, sneaking out of town without a word of warning and no chance to change your mind?

“I think you’ll eventually realize I was right. Once the hard part is done and hearts are mended, and you meet someone else… Someone better.” Her voice crackles with the lies she speaks. The fucking atrocities she attempts to will into existence. “If you really tried, we could be doing dinner like this again in two or three years. I’ll still be here. And Franky, too. But you’ll have healed, and whoever you choose, whoever is lucky enough to capture your heart, maybe she’ll be here, too.”

“You’re lying to us both,” I growl. “You’re gonna come to a fuckin’ barbecue while I have this hypothetical lover on my arm? She’ll be pretty. Maybe even blonde. She’ll have amazing tits and legs for days.”

Her eyes flash with bitter hatred.

“She’ll be sitting on my lap since you know I like that.”Remember, Alana! Remember back to what it was like before.“When I’m no longer fighting for my life and trying to stop a woman from running away all the damn time, you know I like to pull up a chair and keep her close. A beer in one hand and her leg in the other.”

“Exactly.” It’s like she’s sucking on a lemon. Her lips, twisting in anger and her voice breaking on the word. “You see it, too. The future you could have, if only you’d try.”

“I see you smashing some blonde bitch’s head open with a baseball bat.” I slide a long lock of hair off her shoulder and thrill in the goosebumps spreading beneath her skin. “The Alana I knew would run a hoe down for even looking at me. You were the least demanding person I knew.” I lean in and inhale the scent of her shampoo. “You didn’t care what we ate. Where we hung out. Who we were with or what we were doing. But dammit, Alana, you demandedme.”

“And now I’m demanding something different.”

“You were so sweet. So placid. So fuckingeasy. Because you never expected anything materialistic, ever. But babe, you demanded that lap to sit on. My hand on your leg. You settled for nothing short of absolute fucking devotion.”

“You’re confused,” she groans. “Yougaveabsolute devotion. That was you.”

“And you grew accustomed to it. So if I slipped, even for a day, and forgot to tell you I loved you, you were so far up my ass, calling me out on it, it almost became a fun game to see how wound up I could get you.”

“Makes you an asshole.”

My lips curl into a devious grin. “Remember when Kayla Reddington asked me to ask her to prom?”

She breathes out a dangerous snarl. “Stupid, suicidal bitch. What’d she think was gonna happen? Do I look like I share?”

I laugh, my chest and shoulders bouncing because of it. “Sure, Lana. I’ll invite this other hypothetical whore to our future barbecues. Since, according to you, you’re a different person now. Matured or something.”

Frustrated, she pulls back, tucking her own hair behind her ears and exhaling a tired sigh. Then she meets my eyes and shrugs. “I’ll learn. And when the time comes, you’ll be thankful you listened to me. Now let’s go inside before my son thinks I’ve run off without him.”

“Can we still have sex while we’re waiting for my future hoe to arrive?”

“No.” She smacks my stomach and pushes through the door, ignoring my wheeze and the way I rub my belly. Then she changes, like night and day, from the Alana I knew once upon a time to the Alana she is now, a mom, a caretaker. Matured, allegedly. “You guys have started a game already?” She leaves me behind and crosses to the table, stopping beside her son and sliding her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sheesh. You’re already a whole bunch of moves in.”

“Makes my brain happy watching him play.” Chris sits back, quiet contemplation as he sips his beer and looksmyAlana up and down. “How’s it going?”

“Can we stop feeling awkward yet?”

She doesn’t notice me as I wander through my kitchen. As I move to my counter and position myself perfectly to witness his stony stare and her nervous worry.

She wrings her fingers together again, fidgeting while he appears as nothing more than completely fucking cool and unbothered.

“You feel awkward?” He sets his right foot on the opposite knee, bouncing it. Which, really, is proof he’s nervous, too. “I don’t feel awkward.”

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