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“Movie,” she replies. “What’s your pick, Hotshot?”
“I’m good.” And I am not a Disney kind of man. I don’t know my head from my ass when it comes to princess films. When I was their age, I spent as much time outside our house as I could. Television wasn’t something I got to enjoy until I went to live with my father.
“Everyone picks,” she tells me with a look that says she’s not budging.
“Umm…”
“I bet he picks Wreck-It Ralph because of the racing!” Blaire huffs.
Thank you, squirt! “You got it, brat,” I stick my tongue out at her and help the other two grab the toppings for their ice cream before putting the popcorn in the microwave.
“Seems a little obvious, but not really what I expected.” Rosie shrugs, dropping her own pick in the hat and giving it a shake.
She hands Brooks the hat so that the kids can finish doing the picking while we make a start on dessert. While I keep an eye on the popcorn and swirl the bowls with chocolate sauce, Rosie scoops the ice cream ready for the kids to get creative with their toppings.
“What did you expect me to pick?” I ask her, pouring the hot sweet and salty popcorn into two large bowls.
“Well, you’re good with the kids,” she glances up at me, sucking her lip into her mouth as her head tips back to show me her beautiful face. It’s an odd thing to love about someone, but her freckles are my favorite feature. Each golden speckle makes my chest squeeze with the urge to kiss every single one. “I’m not sure if it’s because you love them more than you realize, or maybe…”
“Maybe?”
“Or maybe you’re just a big kid yourself.” Pretty eyes hold mine, soft and steady. “You’re the boy that never grew up with your fast cars and constant abandon. It’s hard to know if you’re ever serious.”
Is that how she sees me? As someone that doesn’t care about anything? I wait for her to maybe elaborate on her statement and when she doesn’t, I ask, “Serious about what, Rosie?”
Her stare widens when I say her name, and I think it throws her off a little because she pulls back to glance around us before focusing on the ground.
Taking a step forward, I tip her chin up with a crooked finger. It’s the first time I see fear flash in her eyes, and the glimpse of it draws me closer. I want to make it disappear and protect her from whatever it is she’s scared of, but with the conversation, it occurs to me that maybe I’m the whatever.
“Serious about what?” I whisper, trailing my fingers over her jaw until it rests in my palm.
“I-I don’t— I don’t know.” When she tries to pull away again, I tighten my grasp.
“Rosie…”
“I don’t know, Brody. I…” With a long exhale, she narrows her stare on my chest. It’s as if she doesn’t want me to see the entire meaning of her words. “I guess, it’s hard to tell if you’re serious about anything.”
For the first time in a long time, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know what to say to her. How to reply without sounding foolish and presumptuous of what she means. But the longer we stand here looking at each other—with the sudden silence bearing down on us—the more I want to tell her that there’s plenty I care about. It’s not all about my career either. I care about my family, and protecting them from everything I can. And even though I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing, I care about her.
I care about this stunning girl more than I’ve allowed myself to care about anyone before her. In fact, what I feel for her is everything I’ve never wanted to feel for another person. The worst part is that I can’t do anything about it, and if I could, I wouldn’t.
Chapter Eleven
Peter Pan is almost over, and Brooks is asleep with his head on Brody’s lap. It’s the cutest thing I’ve seen in a long time. Brody’s long, manly fingers run through the little boy’s golden hair with a gentleness that captivates me. Once in a while, I steal a secret sidelong glance at his face while he watches the movie intently.
Inside all that rugged charm and bravado, there’s a boy. Maybe he’s lost. Maybe he’s not. But he is fearless and brash. Brody’s all the things I used to think I wanted, but now I’m too scared to hold on to. He is all the things that once upon a time I dreamed of. But I don’t know if I can ever be that person again. Whether I can trust him or myself. And maybe…
Maybe I’m the one that’s lost.
Over and over, I look back at his hand and I watch the natural and easy display of affection. I’m certain that I’ve paid more attention to that than the movie I picked. So much so that when his other hand slips into mine between our thighs, I’m surprised at the action and the tingles that flow through me with the warmth of his touch.
Resting my head on his shoulder, I relax into him completely. Brody makes me feel like a kid again. He holds my hand and kisses me every chance he gets, like he can’t keep his hands off me. It’s new and refreshing, and it makes me want more of him.
“You falling asleep on me too?” he mumbles into my hair, squeezing my hand lightly.
It’s not until I look down, shaking my head in reply, that I notice the scar on his hand again. It looks old, and the skin is silky smooth to the touch. Again, I wonder what happened. Every other part of him is so perfect that it makes the scar appear odd on him.
“Do you think I’m a lost boy? Is that why you believe I take nothing seriously?”
