Page 42 of Betting on the Bad Boy
My fingers trailed over the dark ink on his hip. “Tell me about your tattoo.”
He sat up and rubbed a hand across his chin. Grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, he took care of the condom and walked over to the desk, depositing it into a trashcan on the floor.
“My Dad was a Marine. Killed overseas. When I turned eighteen, I wanted to join up. Finish the job he started, right?”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
Dante walked over to the side of the bed, not embarrassed at all being fully naked in front of me. “They wouldn’t take me. Crappy vision and all. I got his dog tag inked on my gut instead.”
“That must have been really hard to grow up without a dad.”
“Yeah, sucked.”
“What about your mom?”
“My folks weren’t ever an item. They met when they were both counselors at some summer camp in New York. When my mom found out she was pregnant, she came looking for him, but he’d already shipped out.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, and I rested my hand on his knee. “So what happened?”
“Meemaw took her in until I was born. She thought about making an adoption plan, but Meemaw said no grandbaby of hers was going to be raised by strangers.” He lifted his eyes to meet mine, and a slight smile flitted across his lips.
“Your grandmother’s an amazing woman.”
“Yeah.”
“And your mom? Do you still talk to her?”
The smile morphed into a scowl. “Nah. She sends a card once a year. Hell, if she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I don’t need her.”
I could tell I’d hit on a sore spot. No wonder he came across as so guarded and aloof.
“How about you? Were you a daddy’s girl?” he asked.
Where was my underwear? I glanced around the room. “My dad split when I was five.”
“You mean to tell me we have something in common?”
“We’re not supposed to be talking, remember? Just sex.”
“Hey, you started it. Looking for these?” My panties dangled from one of his fingers, and I snatched them away. I pulled them on, followed by my jeans. He put an arm around me, turning me to face him, and ran a finger down my collarbone, then under my breast. My toes curled. Not going to go there again. For god’s sake, we were in his Meemaw’s house.
I turned away. “Look, Dante?—”
He pressed up against me and caught my mouth up with his. I pushed against his rock-solid chest.
“I can’t. This was um, fun and all, but I just can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“We agreed to keep it physical. I can’t do grandmas and family secrets and sharing wounds from the past.”
“So it’s okay for you to ask me personal questions, but I can’t reciprocate? Jeez, I’m just trying to get to know you a little better.”
My face burned. As much as I appreciated the multiple “O’s,” he was getting too close. Sex was great. But a relationship, no. There was no time for a relationship.
“I don’t want you to get to know me better.” I yanked my sweater on over my head. To hell with my bra.
“Damn, what are you so afraid of? I’m just making conversation.”
