Page 31 of Sterling Stone

Why? It’s on the tip of my tongue when a sharp knock rattles the door behind Taxi, and we both jump.

“Uncle Stone, you about done in there. I’m starving.”

Hudson. My innocent eleven-year-old nephew. I’m going to strangle whichever brother sent him up here. Or maybe it was Vale.

While I pride myself on being the grill master for every special occasion, I want to shout, I’m busy.

I’m trying to woo a woman who doesn’t want me.

The truth stabs me in the sternum.

“Be out in a minute,” I say over Taxi’s head, toward the thick barrier behind her.

Pausing a second, I wait for Hudson to disappear down the hallway before I glance back at Taxi.

I don’t know what to say. Her mind seems to be made up.

Whatever I thought we had, thought we shared, hadn’t happened. At least, not for her.

Taking a giant step back, I tighten the towel around my waist, struggling to keep it on my hips because my dick hasn’t gotten the memo yet.

Taxi glances down at where my hand fists the twisted terrycloth. She digs her teeth into her lower lip, but as much as I want to read that reaction as a sign that I’m affecting her, she’s already said I’m not.

I hang my head, avoiding my own eyes in the reflection of the mirror. I know what I’ll see. A man aging alone. A man who already lost a girl once, a long time ago, which caused him to never put his heart out there again. Never trust that love would happen.

Taxi felt different, although I can’t put my finger on why.

I’ll never have an answer. There isn’t one.

Quietly, she spins for the door and opens it, cautiously checking the hallway before slipping out of the bathroom.

When she closes the door, I take another minute for myself.

Inhaling a deep breath, I reconstruct the shield I often wear to keep emotion away from logic.

The emotion being the desire to pursue this girl.

The reality is saying step back, old man.

She’s not the One. Again.

10

[Taxi]

Let me show you who I am.

The moment I close the door behind me, second-guessing myself kicks in.

Here is a man practically begging to prove to me he is a good person.

Not in a way that a bad person tries to say he has good character, but the way a truly good person knows his character is safe and sound.

Still, I didn’t trust myself or this situation. Stone was still vague about Emerson. What was her secret? Why couldn’t he share it with me? Why didn’t he trust me enough?

Then again, we hardly knew one another, and I didn’t believe we ever would.

“I’m not staying anyway,” I whisper, as if that statement further justifies my conviction.