Page 78 of Book Boyfriends
“Here’s hoping he was just a figment of your imagination because I’m not sure I’d care for him in real life.”
One eyebrow raised, my head tilts. “He didn’t grow on you after all?”
“No.” He crinkles his nose.
Somehow, even his look of distaste is adorable, eliciting a flutter in my chest. It may be the effect of that boyish grin. Davis has this mix of sweet nerdiness and virile manliness. Like someone who can do your taxes, change your tire, and press you up against a back gate, his masculinity rubbing against you until you see stars.
“So, you didn’t like the book?” I ask, slamming the rest of my drink, the liquid cooling my heated bloodstream from mymore than-friendlythoughts about Davis.
“I didn’t say that.” His face scrunches. “The book was great. Your prose is vivid. It transports you into the story and keeps you turning the page. The characters are layered and rich. I just didn’t like Lord James. His sole focus is on destroying Lady Cecily’s father, and he doesn’t hesitate to manipulate her… to play with her heart to get what he wants.”
“Huh… Most readers find him dashing. They loved seeing his arc of letting go of his thirst for vengeance to be with Lady Cecily.”
“I want to believe that, but even in his pseudo-redemption arc, he still gets what he ultimately wants. Sure, he grovels and renounces the vendetta with her father, but he still gets everything in the end; his vengeance and the lady. A lady I don’t think he deserves.” He clicks his tongue twice. “Is Lady Cecily based on you? She has some peachy qualities to her.”
“Peachy?” An obnoxious chortle bursts from me.
“Yeah, peachy.” He doubles down with a smirk.
“What are these peachy qualities?”
“Are we fishing for compliments?” He leans forward on his elbows and mischief sparks in his features.
“Just character research to see if I accidentally imprinted on Lady Cecily.” I bat my lashes like a brazen flirt, instead of being the un-batting-eye friend Ishouldbe.
“Feisty. Sweet. Witty. Beautiful,” he says, his low voice a little husky. “Loyal. Supportive. Sometimes a little too focused on everyone else’s happiness, instead of her own.”
Et tu, Davis?There’s no disguising the frown that replaces my flirtatious smile. He’s not wrong, but annoyance still festers inside me with the second mention of this particular proclivity of mine by two different men in a ten-minute period.
“Did I say something wrong?” He leans back, concern dipping his smile.
“No…” I sigh. “Not you. I’ve had a few people lecture me about that little character flaw. That my fixation on other people’s happiness is getting in the way of my own.”
“As far as flaws, it could be worse. There are already enough people focused on their own happiness with no regard for how it impacts others,” he says, sadness coats his words.
A twinge surges in my chest with the memory of Davis’s comment about most people disappointing you during our first date. Not just his dad who made promises that he never kept –because something was always more important than his son – but the many other adults along the way.
“And you’ve had a lot ofthatcharacter flaw already. I can’t imagine what it must have been like,” I say, my expression soft.
“Yeah. Lots of people focused on getting a check for a foster kid until they found one with autism too challenging. Until my moms came along. They aren’t as self-sacrificing as Lady Cecily, but they care about others… They care about me. Until themand my grandparents, I’d never felt like what I wanted mattered. That I mattered.”
“You matter.” Reaching across the table, I thread our fingers. The action was partly meant to comfort him, but mostly to soothe my own emotions. It physically hurts to think about this man in any pain.
“It’s okay—” He squeezes our joined hands. “I know. My sad story has a happy ending, remember?”
“I know, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not sad for what you went through. No matter how things were with my parents’ marriage as a kid, I knew they were there. That I was important. It hurts to think that you didn’t have that, and not just because you’re wonderful, but because every kid deserves that.”
“You think I’m wonderful?” He strokes his thumb over the top of my hand, the skin hums under the caress of his rough pads.
“Now, who’s fishing for compliments?” I tease, biting my lower lip. “But, yes, you’re wonderful.”
“For the record, I think you’re wonderful too.” His throat bobs. “Which is why I’ll be obnoxious and say while your preoccupation with other people’s happiness may not hurt anyone but yourself, I don’t like the idea of you being hurt.”
His words caress me almost as sweetly as his fingers. They aren’t chiding like those of my brothers but pained. It’s as if somehow my hurt ishis.
“Like with you going to your cousin and ex’s wedding for your mom’s sake. I know you say it’s what you do for people you love. I just hope you don’t forget to give yourself some of those peachy qualities that I like so much.”
The frenzied rise of my pulse drowns out the bar’s soundtrack of laughter, rock music, and thethwackof axes. Lars’s words about my brother’s hope for someone who willeither help me keep a little bit of myself for me, or help replenish me, sing inside me.
