Page 43 of Hero Hair

“I have no clue. It’s why I’m asking.”

Sometimes men can be so dense. I don’t have anything to compare this to, though. “Why don’t you sleep with other women? If it’s just a game, then why act differently?”

Macs clears his throat, and I can tell he’s moving, the phone scratching against his stubble. “I don’t want any other women.”

“That doesn’t sound like a game to me,” I reply.

“It doesn’t.”

“You go back and forth between it being a game and actually giving a damn about whatever is going on between us. I’m trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not. That is what’s wrong with me.”

He stays silent on the other end, so I bluster on.

“Which is it?”

“I want to understand you,” he whispers.

I let out a pent-up breath. “I want to know about you too.”

“Good. So what’s the moral of this story? We kind of lost our way,” he says. I hear the smile in his voice. He’s blaming me for detouring the conversation.

“We’re on the same page then. It’s a game, but we care enough to know about each other?”

“No,” he replies, zero hesitation.

“The moral of the story is you want me to use words to text back. I’ve agreed, but now you’re saying we’re not on the same page, so you’re going to have to enlighten me.”

“No. It’s not a game.”

My heart leaps again. I roll out of bed and sit on the edge. When I steady myself, I walk over to the huge window and throw the drapes open. I’m giving him a few more moments to explain before I pepper him with questions.

“I care,” he mumbles, so low I barely hear him.

A car races by on the street below me, and a few office lights are on in the building across the way. “What was that?” I ask, letting a smile slip.

“Seriously? You heard me.”

“I didn’t,” I say. I bite my lip.

“I said I care,” he growls.

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” he replies. “I’m not in the business of telling people things I’m not comfortable sharing.”

“We shared our bodies with each other all afternoon, Macs.”

“That’s different. I’m used to sharing that with other women, and don’t pretend you aren’t used to sharing yours with other men. It’s to us as a coffee date is to most other people. Agreed?”

I think about it for a few moments. He’s both right and wrong. “A fucking awesome coffee date, though,” I agree. “This afternoon felt different than other times.” If we’re playing the honesty game, I’m going to dive right the fuck in.

“I know,” he says simply.

“Because we care.”

“So you care, too?”

I narrow my eyes. “How can you possibly wonder that?” I mean, we’re both sort of at a disadvantage where emotions are concerned, but surely he’s able to tell that I feel for him more than my average date. “Of course I care. Every time we’re together I find myself trying to keep my mouth shut before I say something that scares you off. Intimacy is an easy place to hide. For me anyways. Everything else is what’s difficult. ”

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