Page 34 of Dare You to Run
“Let me grab my shoes and my wallet,” I tell him and turn toward the nightstand where my wallet sits and my shoes at the edge of the bed.
“You won’t need your wallet unless you plan on drinking.”
I freeze with my foot halfway into my sneaker and look up at him. “I can’t let you do that. You paid for the bar the other night and have allowed me to roam your house while at work.”
“Sorry little mouse. No woman, mine or not, will pay for a meal when I’m around. We can argue about this all night, but I know you’re hungry so let’s just go.” He winks at me and my core yells at me to just sleep with him already.
Down bitch. It’s been four days.
I finish getting my shoes and tuck my wallet into the back pocket of my shorts. I flash a look in the mirror as I pass to ensure that I don’t look like trash on garbage day in the summer.
“You look fine. Trust me.” His voice turns low and I shiver from my ears to my toes.
I walk past him and he shuts the door behind me. I may put a teensy bit of extra sway into my hips, but it’s purely unintentional. I’m simply trying to free a wedgie.
Or so I tell myself.
FOURTEEN
Speakingwith Dagen’s dad today made the guilt I already felt for the way I acted last night just fester for the rest of the afternoon.
“I really appreciate you looking after Dagen in addition to the repairs. There are a lot of creeps out there and man to man, I’m relieved to know you’re one of the good ones.”Sure, if one of the good ones means imagining your daughter riding me and screaming my name then I am the best you’ll ever meet.
I also got yet another lecture from Kinsley letting me know I was acting like a tool and if I ever wanted to make cute babies with Dagen, I needed to quit being a jerk and make her smile instead of frown. No one said I wanted to make babies with Dagen. I wouldn’t mind making the beast with two backs, but babies are just a far fetched fantasy.
Dagen seemed to perk up a bit when I asked her if she’d like to ride my bike again and now we sit at Wok This Way, waiting for the massive amount of food I ordered.
“I really am sorry for being so horrible to you.”
“Why were you?” The small paper lantern on our table flickers and lights up the green in her eyes like sparkling jewels.
With a sigh I ask, “Truth?” She nods her head because it was highly unlikely that she’d want to be fed a bullshit story. “You’re gorgeous and it was my defense mechanism.”
Her face does this thing where it pales, but her cheeks heat to a bright red. It’s clear that I have shocked her, but it really shouldn’t be that much of a shock. I mean, I did try to sleep with her just hours after we met. That was pretty much a dead giveaway.
“How did you come to be in Cattywump Bay?” I ask her, trying to change the subject and salvage the rest of the night.
However I don’t think I really accomplished that. In fact, I may have made it worse if the look of nausea on her face is any indication.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just…” Her fingers twist the napkin she holds and I can sense her hesitation. “It’s a long story with a lot of fucked up stuff, but I’ll try to edit it as best as I can for you.”
She takes a deep breath before starting, and the words that follow leave me completely speechless.
“I recently found out that the woman who birthed me actually conceived me after slipping my Dad some drugs and taking advantage of him while he was unconscious. Basically she raped him, then said she’d take me away from him unless he stayed with her.”
“Holy fucking shit.” My stomach drops and if possible, I feel even worse for lying to her father about not having ulterior motives to allowing her to stay with me.
“Yup. Fucking shit is right. When I found out that not only had my Mom and Dad kept it from me, but that my grandparents –the rapist's parents– knew all about it and threatened to take me away from my Dad, I kind of lost my mind. So I did the only logical thing I could think of, and took off in my Mom’s car –technically my step-mom but she’s more thanthat– and drove all the way to Florida to confront them and tell them to go to hell where their daughter surely is.”
I’m trying really hard right now to say something other thanI’m sorrybecause that would just be an idiotic thing to say. But how does one respond to a story like that?
“I was abandoned by my drug addicted mother after she decided that I was in the way of her lifestyle when I was four.” Welp, I guess that is clearly the answer I could come up with.
“Looks like we’re two fucked up peas in a pod,” she jokes, a placating chuckle on her lips.
“I’d say so. But the good news is that you have parents that very obviously care for you. I went fourteen years without anyone wanting to adopt me.”
