Page 33 of One Last Thing Before You Go

Impressed, I smile at Knox. “Wow.”

“Can you believe it? I’m not just good at giving you multiple orgasms—I can also do research,” he says sarcastically.

I glare at him, feeling a blush spread across my face.

“Come on.” His laugh bursts through him. “I was just messing around. I’m just kinda frustrated that you seem so surprised I’d be able to handle something so simple.”

“I haven’t known you for long, so it’s a little difficult for me to trust you implicitly.”

He’s quiet for a beat, until finally he says, “You trust me well enough to let me make you your coffee every morning.” I tilt my head and raise a brow. He laughs softly and nods. “Fair enough. Ask me anything.”

“Anything?” I sit up straighter in my seat, watching him with cautious eyes, tempted.

“Anything. See, while you’ve been doing everything in your power to keep me away, I actually want you to get to know me. I want you to like me.”

“And you just assume that once I get to know you, I’ll like you?”

“Yes. But not because I’m cocky,” he says the word like it’s dirty. “But because I know, even from that one night we spent together, that the connection you and I have isn’t something that can be made up or faked; it’s not something that disappears. I know you’re pushing me away, and I’m not helping the situation by being mildly irritating—even though we both know it’s a little charming; admit it. But I’m confident enough to believe that what I experienced— what we experienced—was real. So I’ll endure the snarky comments and the eye rolls because I know it’s in reaction to what you’re feeling. Plus, I find them a little hot,” he says with a laugh. “I’ll endure them until you give me a fair shot. Only then, only when you’ve actually properly gotten to know me and can’t make up any excuses, will I accept that you’re not lying when you say you don’t like me. So ask me. Ask me anything you want. I’m an open book—pun intended.”

By the time he’s done with his speech, my heart is racing in my chest, and I’m chewing at my bottom lip. With difficulty, I try not to focus too much on how his words make me feel, and focus more on the fact that he’s given me the freedom to ask him about whatever I want.

Where do I even start?

The first question that bubbles up is Why me? Why are you so into me? Because I still don’t understand how a guy in his twenties with his whole life ahead of him would want to waste his time with a woman in her mid-thirties who absolutely crashed and burned in life. Other than as a fun one-night stand, which we already had, what’s the point? What would he get out of this? It’s not like I’m some superhuman woman who looks ten years younger than her age. I’m someone who doesn’t have the energy to follow a forty-step skincare routine twice a day, one who doesn’t work out, or eat healthy. I don’t have any interesting hobbies besides reading and I’m not adventurous. I’m barely surviving day by day. Who the hell wants that? Who would ever look at me and think “Yeah, that’s her”? Because even when I was at my best, I wasn’t wanted— easily cast aside.

Why me, then?

Instead, I choose to go the mature route and ask him an obvious question: “What’s the deal with you and your dad?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

LOTTIE

The light in Knox’s eyes immediately dims, the corners of his lips turning down. “Getting straight to the point, then,” he says, voice tight.

“Regretting the whole open book thing now, aren’t you?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Nah. You deserve to know. Especially since we’re in bed together, now. Figuratively speaking, of course. Though, I guess I should probably preface the story by telling you I didn’t meet Walter until I was about ten years old.”

“Wait, what?”

Knox nods, his grip tightening on the wheel with a sigh. “The whole story is kinda insane.”

“Explain.”

“You know how Walter used to be a Lit professor, right?” I nod. “Well, my mother used to be his TA.”

I inhale sharply, my hands flying to my mouth to hide a smile. He notices my expression and laughs.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

I sputter a laugh. “Do you?”

“Yeah, I can see right through those beautiful big brown eyes of yours and into your dirty mind. I remember you telling me that night about your thing for romance novels.” I laugh softly at the memory, at the way he teased me at first, but later asked what my favorite thing about them was.

“I’m positive I know where your mind went. But please try to remember these are my parents we’re talking about, and I really don’t wanna think about them… You know.”

I put my hands up in defeat and laugh. “Don’t worry. The ‘Hot for Teacher’ trope has historically never done it for me, anyway. Go on.”