Page 50 of Dash

“Are you gonna pick something?” he asks when he eventually pulls back.

“Okay, but only because I was looking forward to dinner.”

His thumb rubs over my swollen lips. “Good girl.”

Oh, fuck. He might be the death of me.

When the waitress comes back, I order the burger he suggests and a drink.

When we’re alone again, his hand goes back to my thigh.

“You got any siblings?”

I snort. “My mother was pissed enough that I ruined her body. There’s no way she would let my father impregnate her again.”

“You have a difficult relationship?”

That’s putting it lightly.

“She’s a difficult person, which makes a relationship with her feel like walking through a meteor shower while dodging burning rocks. What about you?” I don’t elaborate any more than that. I’m not sure he’d even believe half the things my mother does or says.

“My parents died when I was young. I have a half brother somewhere out there, but I’ve not seen him since I was about ten years old. I was raised by my grandfather.”

“Sorry. That’s rough. Seems like we both hit the dramatic childhood trope.”

“What about your dad?”

I never like answering this question so I say it flippantly. Quick. Like ripping off a plaster. “Jail.”

“What for?”

“Fraud. Some kind of tax evasion too. They nailed him for everything they could. He deserved it, but it broke my mother. They seized pretty much all of our things, including the house. She didn’t appreciate the riches-to-rags story. She was far too used to the lifestyle my father provided. So, he went to jail, and my mother spent the next ten years trying to claw back what she lost. She lives in a constant state of denial about the fact she’s poor.”

“How old were you when he was locked up?”

“Eight. My mother lived on family money for a while, but I doubt there’s much of it left. She doesn’t exactly live a modest life.” I pause and then wince. “My mother is why dinner burned.” I don’t know why I admit it, but now that I have, I don’t stop talking. “She came over and… I don’t know, Dash. She just has this way of crawling under my skin. She pokes and opens wounds I didn’t even know I had. She doesn’t listen to me. She doesn’t listen to anything other than what she wants.” It rushes out of me like a tidal wave as his thumb continues to stroke my thigh. “She has this crazy idea about me marrying into money. Every time I see her, she’s trying to push some rich prick on me, and I keep telling her I’m not interested but?—”

“She’s trying to marry you off like you’re some kind of bargaining chip?” Anger cracks through his voice, and I freeze. I didn’t expect him to get so pissed.

“It’s not going to happen,” I assure him. “She thinks she can wear me down enough to change my mind, but I’m not marrying some boring suit.”

The food arrives, which stops whatever reply he was about to make, but his jaw is so tight, he’s going to need a crowbar to unlock it. I focus on my plate. I wish I hadn’t said anything.

“It’s not too late to walk away,” I joke, even though my insides are bleeding as I say it. My belly is churning, my throat thick with bile.

Please don’t leave.

I grab a fry, popping it in my mouth, just for something to do. I don’t taste it as I chew, and it turns my stomach.

“Why would I walk away?”

“I tell you I’m poor and that my family is deranged, and you ask why?”

“I don’t give a shit about money, Dayna. And I’ve dealt with worse shit than a controlling mother.”

I wonder what…

“Just remember this moment when we’re months down the line and you having to deal with her bullshit too.”

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