Page 23 of Dirty Secret Love

“So none of you are married or seriously tied down, huh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“We don’t believe in love,” I answer, attempting to keep my voice light because now that I think about it, it’s pretty pathetic that none of us have ever loved.

Well, except for Callahan, who’s madly in love with his best friend—Lake.

“Drake seems to be very in love with Wren,” Sutton counters.

“Ah yes, how can I forget him. But you have to remember that he’s the exception to the rule,” I admit, taking a deep breath and looking away, the walls I’ve built up over the years briefly threatening to crumble.

I, of course, don’t tell her what I recently learned about him. He had a live-in girlfriend and a son at some point. They died in a car accident. When he told us, I felt like the worst brother. How can I not know something so important about him? If Mom had been alive, I’m sure she would’ve been there for him—we probably would’ve been in a different place.

What if Dad hadn’t mixed himself with whoever killed him, and my parents . . . I stop myself from trying to figure out what would be if things were different, and Mom hadn’t died. It’s pathetic that after all these years I still think about the life we could’ve had if she hadn’t passed.

I glance at Sutton and smile, because what I said is true. Mom would’ve loved her in many ways. It’s such a shame she didn’t get to meet her. Then again, it would’ve broken my mother’s heart to know that her husband almost got all his children killed.

Sutton taps a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “What made you all so cynical?”

I immediately scoff. It’d be nice to defend my brothers since they’re not here, but honestly, I think we’re all a bunch of cynical, soulless men who can’t love anything.

“I can’t speak for the others. For me it was probably my father,” I confess, my voice lowering. “He was devastated when Mom died—and went on to devastate many after that. I don’t want to endure that kind of pain. The idea of losing myself in someone only to be torn apart if they leave . . . it terrifies me,” I admit, absently stirring the mug, the swirls in it mirroring the whirl of emotions inside me.

Sutton frowns slightly, her eyebrows knitting together. “It’s kind of sad to think like that.”

“How about you?” I ask, eager to change the subject yet genuinely curious about her take on love.

“Me?” She seems momentarily taken aback, clearly not used to being on the receiving end of such questions.

“First days are about discovery,” I elaborate, leaning forward. “We shared hot chocolate, which, as you know, is a cherished family tradition. You got a glimpse into my dysfunctional family circus. You spoke of your parents and mentioned your brother and sister, but just casually because then we skipped to your love for books and your disastrous dating life.”

“Why do you assume it was disastrous?” she asks, narrowing her gaze.

“If it weren’t, I doubt you’d be needing my services as your fake fiancé.” I wink at her. “But you don’t have to tell me if they’re that embarrassing,” I probe with a smirk.

“Well, there’s the time I dated a guy who claimed to be a big foodie. Excited, I took him to downtown Denver’s upscale tasting menu restaurant. When the first course arrived—a delicate amuse-bouche—he asked where the rest of the food was and if there was a burger option. His idea of a foodie was pretty different from mine,” she says with an eye roll.

“No way. Gael would have a coronary if that happened to him in one of his restaurants,” I claim. “So, I take it there was no second date?”

She arches an eyebrow. “That was our second date . . . and definitely the last one.”

“It doesn’t sound as bad as you think . . . what else do you have?”

“There was the guy who suddenly started talking to a tree in the middle of the sidewalk,” she says, trying to suppress her laughter. “Claimed it was haunted by a spirit named Gerard. I had to chat with the tree to make Gerard feel comfortable. However, Gerard was the one who told my date that we weren’t compatible, and he had to let me go.”

I burst out laughing, almost spilling my drink. She then mentions a guy who introduced her to his pets—a bunch of snakes. Even though they seemed like nice reptiles she made up an allergy and jetted out of his house.

“I went out with someone who, for the life of them, couldn’t remember my name,” Sutton continues. “He tried to cover it up by calling me various pet names like “sweetie,” “honey,” and “pumpkin. At the end of the night, he leaned in romantically and whispered, “Goodnight, Sarah.”

By now I can’t stop laughing, this is just too much.

“Your dating history is . . .” I study her for a moment, attempting to discern the truth. Everything sounds utterly ridiculous, but . . . “Did you just make that shit up?”

She grins widely, eyes dancing with mirth. “I wish it was all made up. I’m not even going to tell you about the guy who was a wizard in another life. That’s just too crazy to be believable.”

“But I want to know,” I insist. Sutton shakes her head in response and I have to let it go, for now. “Well, I guess you have bad luck then.”

“I probably do,” she states.

I study her face for a moment. The playful banter we’ve had feels comforting, but I need to know more. “Have you been in love?” I ask, gently, almost afraid of her answer.

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