Page 48 of Broken

I push the thoughts away again and continue to dissect what I’m feeling. I look at mine and King’s joined hands. His strong fingers intertwined with mine and holding on as he sits there talking about …Oh crap. What’s he talking about?

“Sunshine?”

“I’m sorry, King. I think I zoned out. What were you saying?” I mumble quickly, heat hitting my cheeks. King has tilted my entire thought process tonight because he’s been giving me all of his attention. He doesn’t look around the room. He doesn’t pick up his phone. He doesn’t let his attention go anywhere but to me. The man is doing the complete opposite of Dom. That isn’t what jars me quite so much, though. It’s that he’s not like my dad either. Dad smothers my mother. He holds her close. He orders for her. Heck, he even feeds her at times. Mom loves it. He’s always done everything for me, and I thought that’s what a man who was in love with his wife—or girlfriend—should do.

Not King. He asks for my input. He gives me my space, but he does it while stillholding my hand.It’s completely different, and although he is entirely focused on me, I feel cared for and safe, yet my own person. Which brings me to the thought that rocked me to my core.

This is how it should be between a woman and a man.

Partners.

“I asked if you’ve tried the corn dip?” he says.

I look down at our appetizers. He ordered a variety platter, after asking me if I wanted anything. I usually just nibble around on the chips and salsa, so after making sure I got that, he ordereda variety tray, too. It seems too much food with what we ordered for entrees, but I didn’t say anything. King is a big man. This past week has shown me it takes a lot of food to fill him up.

“I don’t even know what corn dip is,” I murmur. This could get dicey. I know with my heritage I should love Mexican food. Yet, not only do I look like my mother, but I also have her tastes, which means I prefer Italian cuisine. I can eat tacos—which is what I ordered—but not my favorite.

He studies me, tilting his face to look at me. “Why am I sensing that you do not like Mexican food?”

“I don’t know. I ordered food, King,” I point out.

“I screwed all this up,” he whispers, but then his lips move into a big smile that I don’t quite understand.

“What?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

“I’m ten years older than you are,” he announces.

“Um … we’ve been other this, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, Gabby. The thing is, I don’t think I made it clear that I don’t have experience with this kind of thing.”

“Going out to eat?” I ask, knowing my face is scrunched up because I just don’t understand what he’s talking about.

“Dating.”

“Yeah, right,” I laugh.

“I’m serious. The first woman I actually took out on a date, I married.”

I have the straw of my soda up to my lips and freeze when he says that. “Shelby was your first date?” I eek out, even more confused.

“Yeah.”

“But I thought you two hadn’t been together all that long really.”

“We hadn’t,” he confirms.

“King, you’re in your late thirties,” I point out again.

“Thirty-six. Let’s not send me over the hill and down the valley before my time, woman.”

My lips jerk into a semi-smile. “Fine,earlythirties. How was Shelby your first date?”

“Your dad is in a club, right?”

“It’s his club, his life, and his first love,” I answer.

“So, yes,” he laughs.

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