Page 17 of Hung Up
“You took five shots the night before you’re supposed to ride,” she says, interrupting me. I suddenly feel like a scolded child. “That’s a pretty idiotic thing to do in my opinion.”
My eyes narrow. “I’m a big boy, Sweetheart. I can take care of myself.”
“Can you really?” She scoffs, resting her elbows on the table and intertwining her hands together. “Because if it weren’t for me, you probably would’ve passed out at the bar and woken up with your face stuck to the hardwood floor.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t pull that shit. You think you can just—” She suddenly stops, her brows furrowing as she studies me. “What did you say?”
I shrug. “I said thank you. Thank you for getting me back to the room and leaving that Tylenol and glass of water. I’m sorry you had to take care of me, and you’re right. I was an idiot to drink that much the night before a ride. It won’t happen again.”
She frowns but continues to stare at me, and I shift slightly in my seat. Her blue eyes are intense as they watch me, almost like she’s looking for something that even I don’t know exists. Or maybe she’s just trying to see if I’m lying. I clear my throat, which immediately causes her frown to disappear as she blinks at me slowly, letting her hands fall into her lap.
“It’s hard to be mad at you when you admit you’re wrong,” she grumbles with a quiet sigh. I bite my lip to stop my chuckle from escaping, but refuse to say a word before she does, fearing I’ll say the wrong thing. It’s like walking on thin ice with her. One wrong word and she’ll start yelling at me again. Or push me away. “So if you know it’s irresponsible, then why do you do it?”
“Well,” I draw out, rolling my lips between my teeth as I mull over how to answer that. Do I give her the full truth, the half truth, or just make a joke? Staring at her, I realize that if I want her to open up to me and give me a chance to at least be friends, then I owe her that, too. “My PR firm got on me for being seen in the papers with so many different women. They told me to either stick with one woman or no women at all if I want to keep my sponsorships. The bars get a little boring now that I’m not looking for women.”
“And instead of finding a woman to sleep with for the next four months, you decided to say no women at all?” I nod. “Wow. And here I thought you couldn’t surprise me.” I raise a brow at that, and she shrugs. “It’s just your reputation, is all. I assumed you’d want to at least have one woman to sleep with. Or I guess I’m surprised you’re not finding a way around that. There are ways to still have sex and keep it out of the papers.”
Filing that question away for later.“It’s not something worth risking. I need the money from these sponsorships to help my brother take care of the ranch. Choice is pretty obvious to me. Besides, sleeping around isn’t as enjoyable as the papers made it seem.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Now that right there is the question I’ve been trying to answer for the last few years. Sex is sex, and it’s good, but it’s not like I’m an addict or anything like that. I’ve always wanted to date, but it was difficult to make anything stick with my profession. All the traveling and the danger of the job turnedwomen away from wanting a serious relationship. The only type of connection I could ever grow with anyone was purely physical, so I figured, why try anything new?
“It was the only thing that made sense,” I answer instead, and the truth of it hits me somewhere deep inside. She nods as if she understands, so I risk asking, “And what about you? Are you a serial dater? A bed hopper? Waiting for the one? Or have you sworn off relationships?”
She laughs, really laughs, and my attention falls to the freckles dotting her cheeks and makes butterflies erupt in my stomach. Her laughter is…honeyed. I guess I know what answer I’m hoping for. “And what makes you think I’m not dating someone currently?” I raise a brow in silent response. “Okay, fine. I’ve sworn off relationships.”
“May I ask why?”
“You can, doesn’t mean I’ll tell you.” We stare at each other for a while, the silence stretching between us even after the waitress has dropped off our food and left. She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she averts her gaze and avoids eye contact, picking up her fork to push her eggs around her plate. “My ex cheated on me, the guy before that cheated on me, and the guy before that cheated on me. I serial date cheaters so I’ve decided enough is enough. I seem to just push men into other women’s arms and dating stopped being fun for me.”
I’m taking a bite of my bacon when her words finally sink in. “Did they tell you it was your fault?”
“Among other things,” she murmurs, finally bringing her fork full of eggs to her mouth.
“Faith, no,” I start to say, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“I know it’s not my fault. I know they could’ve broken up with me first, and what they did was wrong, and their actions aren’t a reflection of me.” She looks down once more. “Doesn’t mean it gets any easier.”
We sit in silence for a while, only the sound of our forks scraping our plates filling the air between us. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking what exactly it was that these men said to her to make it her fault, how they tried to place the blame on her. I may not be a relationship expert, and I don’t claim to understand women, but it’s clear whatever was said to her is sitting like a heavy weight on her shoulders.
Her defensiveness and confrontational energy from the last couple weekends suddenly makes sense. She’s in the mindset of ‘all men’ and I can’t say I blame her. Three of her exes all doing the same thing? I'd even start to wonder if it was my fault and question what I was doing wrong. A small part of me can’t help but ponder what she’s like in a relationship. Is she the type to only give as good as she gets? Is she a private or public person with her dating life? Does she bend over backward for the one she loves?
Suddenly, I want nothing more than to find out.
“When I was in the seventh grade, I tried to kiss the girl I liked but I tripped as I was going in and smacked my head against her face. She got a bloody nose and lost a tooth.”
The laugh that comes out of Faith is one of surprise and completely carefree, which makes me start to laugh, too. She covers her mouth with her hand as she closes her eyes, tears welling in the corner as she tries her best to get her giggles under control. As she starts to quiet down, I take a risk and tell her, “I love it when you laugh. And I really like your smile.”
Her cheeks flush a bright red as her hands fall away, and she nervously tucks her hair behind her ear. She clears her throat and looks at me from under her lashes as she catches her breath. Faith gives me an easy smile as we stare at one another, and it feels like I’m having heart palpitations knowing I’m the one who put that smile on her face.
“Thank you,” she whispers, adjusting the napkin she had placed in her lap. “Maybe you’re not so bad, after all.”
Holy shit. I think the ice is thawing.
“Not so bad,” I repeat, which causes her to chuckle. “Something tells me that’s high praise coming from you.”
