Page 29 of Love is Fake

You can take the boy out of the South…

I take in the distance between the floor and the seat. Apparently, I’m going to have to jump again, like a child. “You have something against steps?”

Lennox chuckles deep in his throat and the sound makes me think things I really shouldn’t be thinking about.

“Maybe I just like helping you up.” Before I can formulate a response, his hands are on me and he’s hoisting me up. I hold my breath, and then I hold it some more as Lennox’s hands stay on my waist for a few seconds too long, warming every part of me. Finally, he catches up to himself, steps away and closes the door.

I sit there dumbly, watching him round the hood of the truck, trying to get my body temperature to drop from boiling. But the sound of his voice and the flirtation in his words keep poundingin my ears. Maybe he tells all the girls he lifts into his truck the same damn thing. Maybe that’s why he only drives such mountainous vehicles – so that he can use that line over and over and over again.

I shouldn’t take it as him flirting, but for some reason it’s hard to convince myself that it was anything but.

I don’t say anything as he slides into his seat and pulls out onto the road, his strong, capable hands on the wheel as he guides the car through traffic. Instead, I stare straight ahead, stealing a few sidelong glances at him. I shouldn’t. I know that. But it’s hard not to look at him when he’s this close.

“You said your dad wanted a boy. Y’all tight?” he asks seemingly out of nowhere and I twist to face him.

So, he’s been listening to my verbal diarrhea back there.

“You don’t miss much, do you?”

“I pay attention. I’m not a complete meathead,” he jokes but there’s a hint of vulnerability behind his words, telling me it’s a label he’s heard more than once.

“I never thought you were,” I assure him, because it’s true. Lennox may be famous for his athleticism, but there’s no doubt he’s smart and sharp as a damn tack. “And – to answer your question – yeah, my dad and I are close. It was just the two of us for a long time, so we sort of depended on each other.”

Lennox nods. “Must be nice.” His expression grows a little wistful and I watch as his mouth parts to formulate his next question. “You talk about your dad, but you never mention your mom,” he says eventually.

I look out of my window and away from him so he won’t read anything in my expression.

“Nothing to tell. She never wanted to have a kid, bailed when I was still a baby. It’s always just been me and my dad.” My voice is cold, emotionless as if I don’t care.

Lennox reaches over and takes hold of my hands that I’ve clenched together in my lap without realizing. “I’m sorry,” he says. The words are really nothing more than a whisper and yet I hear them loud and clear, vibrating against my eardrums, reaching deep down inside of me.

I shake my head. “Don’t be. If she didn’t want to be around, her leaving was the best option for everyone.”

I should pull my hands away from his grip, but his touch is comforting. Instead of moving away, I find myself leaning into his embrace. This might come back to bite me in the ass, but…I don’t really think far or hard enough to decide how hard that bite might be. The truth of the matter is, this really isn’t a conversation I should be having with someone I barely know and – worse – a client. Inevertalk about this stuff. Never. Kiara is the only friend I’ve ever shared this stuff with. And, even with her, I don’t go too deep.

“What about you?” I deflect like a pro. “Your parents are still in Homewood, right?”

Lennox releases my hands in an instant, his fingers gripping the steering wheel like he’s mad and I wonder what’s got him so riled up all of a sudden.

“I forget sometimes that we must know a lot of the same people.” He relaxes slightly, remembering who he’s talking to, that I’m not some prying reporter.

That was a bit of a stretch, but the Grays were pretty much royalty in small town Alabama. They were the picture of old Southern money; the big plantation house in the burbs, the good-looking family gracing the society pages of the newspapers, their son a star athlete, their daughter a beautiful debutante.

“More like,everyoneknew you back home,” I snort. But Lennox doesn’t laugh, if anything he looks uncomfortable. “What?” I frown over at him.

“Nothing, it’s just weird, you know more about me than I do about you. I’m not used to it.”

“It’s not that weird,” I huff a laugh. “You’re ‘Lennox Gray’.” I say his name in the style of a fight announcer, making him chuckle – a sound I definitely want to hear more often. “You were a big deal in high school. Everyone wanted to know all there was to know about you.”

Lennox shakes his head. “High school was a long time ago.”

“And thank the good Lord for that!” I proclaim.

Smiling over at me, Lennox still has that ‘I don’t really get you’ look on his face. I guess I’m not much like the women he usually hangs around with. I have about as much in common with models and actresses as chalk does with cheese.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t a high point for you?” Lennox asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer.

“Just about rock bottom,” I admit, looking out of the window again. And it was made worse by some people – like his bitch of an ex-girlfriend – but there’s no point in going back down that road. “But it made me stronger, I guess, gave me thicker skin.”

---