Page 47 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
She nodded, swallowing hard, then whispered, “Thank you. It’s been really hard not having anyone to talk to about it.”
I stared at her, my heart starting to pound, amazed how easily she could make me feel like I was melting and flying and having a heart attack, all at once.
Holy fucking yellow submarines, this woman is my kryptonite.
I looked back at the road, gripped my hands around the steering wheel, and tried to breathe. I said, “My mother’s been sick for a long time.”
Bianca sucked in a breath. “Really? Oh, no! Is it . . . is it bad?”
Why yes it is, I didn’t say, and it’s all my fault. “She had a stroke several years ago. She mainly stays in bed now. Has trouble speaking, needs constant care.”
That’s pretty much all I got out before my throat closed and I stopped talking.
“Oh, Jackson,” said Bianca. “I’m so sorry to hear that. How hard it must be for you!”
When I didn’t respond to that, she said hesitantly, “Or are you two not close?”
I briefly closed my eyes. This was something I hadn’t spoken about to anyone, ever, but Bianca had just shared something very personal with me, and it felt like the right thing to do to share in kind.
“We used to be. But that was before I became such a disappointment.”
“A disappointment? You? But you’re so . . .”
Expecting a nasty joke about my character, I looked over sharply. But Bianca was looking back at me seriously with her brows pulled together, searching for a word.
Finally she declared, “Well I don’t know what the right word is, but anyone who adopts a special-needs child and raises money for charity and keeps his end of the deals he makes isn’t a disappointment in my book.” With a smile she added, “Even if you are stuck-up higher than a light pole.”
“Stuck up! I am not stuck up!” I exclaimed, pleased as fuck by what she’d said, even if it did end with a jab.
Bianca waved a hand in the air. “Oh please, Jackson, you’re so highfalutin, you think your shit tastes like sherbet.”
Then she slapped her hand over her mouth and stared at me in horror.
I threw my head back and laughed.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she breathed. “That was just classless and rude.”
I kept on laughing, so hard tears formed in my eyes. Her expression was classic. Had anyone else said that to me, I’d have exploded in fury.
She begged, “Please tell me you’re not going to put a retroactive stop payment on your check!”
“That’s not even a thing,” I said between gasps of air.
She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “If my mother knew I’d said something like that, she’d knock me into next week.”
Unthinking, grinning like a lunatic, I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve been giving me grief since the minute we met. I think I’m starting to like it.”
She raised her head and looked at me. Then she looked at my hand on her shoulder.
I snatched my hand away so fast it was a blur. “Sorry,” I said gruffly, my face reddening again.
After a minute of excruciating silence, she said, “Turn here.”
Wishing for a time machine so I could undo my colossal mistake of touching a woman who hadn’t invited me to do so, I turned the corner into Bianca’s neighborhood. A few more turns and I found her street.
“The white one on the left with the red door,” she said, pointing to a house.
As I pulled to a stop at the curb, Bianca cried softly, “Oh!”
