Page 101 of Book Boyfriends
“No, but I do have a guest room full ofStar Trekmemorabilia, including bobbleheads of each captain.” Smirking, he guides me to the table and pulls out my chair.
“Swoon!” I fan myself and take my seat.
“Wait until you see the collection of Enterprise models.” He presses a slow kiss to my lips, one that makes me grateful that I’m already seated, thanks to its knee-wobbling impact, before he takes his chair across from me.
We settle at the table. Two place settings sit opposite the flowers. He moves the vase to the side, saying it obstructs his preferred view, and my stomach flips. With Davis, it’s the little things that pull me deeperin likewith this man. Somehow, each small gesture feels huge with him.
Below the table sits a small cooler and an insulated to-go food carrier. He pulls out champagne from the cooler. Popping the bubbly, he pours us each a glass.
“This is very impressive.” I clink my glass against his and take a sip, the dry sweetness buzzes on my taste buds.
“Full disclosure, my assistant set this up,” he says, his expression is bashful.
“Your assistant.” I laugh. “I really am in a billionaire romance.”
“Nah. More like ‘a guy who’s comfortable and lucky enough to have amazing people work with him and are willing to help him out’ romance.” He opens the food containers and begins to plate our food.
“Not as catchy as billionaire romance.” I grin. “This looks amazing.” My stomach almost dances with anticipation at the mouth-watering steak, fries, and broccoli covering my plate.
“They’re rated number eight for sirloin on GF Finder,” he says, unfolding his napkin and placing it on his lap.
“Only number eight,” I mock gasp.
“But number two for steak fries.”
“Better than Fisher’s Landing? How dare you, sir.” I pick up a fry and dip it into the ketchup. “Let me be the judge of that.”
I don’t need to verbalize the results of my assessment. The happy moan that falls out of me with my first bite confirms it.
The only thing tastier than this meal is just being with Davis. Conversation flows easily from topic to topic. Our favorite places to travel. Our current streaming obsession.
We occasionally lapse into snatches of quiet, but even those are not awkward or uncomfortable. It’s more like taking a breath. For me, I just sink into those moments, suspecting that he needs them to just let his brain be. He’d once said that his brain is always going in social interactions, trying to decipher cues. I won’t pretend I haven’t done a bit of googling and followed a few autistic creators on social media to help educate myself, but I know that autism is different for everyone.
“So, today was your first pickleball experience?” He breaks the silence. “Outside of dukes behaving badly, what did you think?”
“If this is your ploy to try to get me to play, I’ll warn you I don’t sweat sexy.”
He chuckles. “I doubt that.”
“This is not false modesty. I resemble a strawberry sundae left on the sidewalk on a ninety-degree day.” I aim my fork at him. “But I could be persuaded to come watch you play again.”
“Minus the duke.”
“Minus the duke.” My mouth pulls down. “You should never have been put in that situation. I should have been honest with you from the start. I’m sorry I lied.”
“We’ve already gone over this, you didn’t lie. You just didn’t tell me.”
“Which is a lie in a different outfit.” I lean back, placing the fork on the table. “As important as promises are to you, the truth is to me. I trusted and loved two people who kept something bigfrom me. Even if they never lied outright to me, because I never asked them what was going on—either because I trusted them or was too scared to see what was happening right in front of me—a lie is a lie no matter how you package it.”
“You not telling me about your book men, and what your ex and cousin did are two different situations, but I get it. It’s kind of like how even little promises eat away at me to not break—” His face scrunches. “It’s funny how we both deal with the aftermath of others hurting us by trying not to emulate their behavior.”
“Yeah.”
As much as I love stories, I’ve never had anything but a tight relationship with the truth. After Will and Lena, anxiety twisted in my stomach anytime I lied or withheld something. This is, perhaps, what has been the hardest part of this entire situation.
“I don’t want to be like them and somehow…” The hard lump in my throat steals away my ability to finish my confession.
“You’re nothing like them.” Reaching over, he takes my hand. “Just like I’m not like my dad. Saying that doesn’t erase that fear. But, as you told me to be okay with sometimes breaking promises, you do the same. This whole situation is strange, and you made decisions that you thought would cause the least amount of damage. Continuing to beat yourself up about it, especially after I’ve accepted your completely unnecessary apology, hurts us both.”
