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Amy pulled back and pushed up the sleeve of her dress. “See this? That’s my mom. Last year she cut me. Twenty-seven stitches. She wanted cash for drugs. Booze. Both. Who in the hell knows.”

Ryker slid his hand up her forearm until their palms were pressed together, then he twined their fingers together and brought her arm up to his lips. For long moments he lavished kisses against the scar.

“Baby, I can’t possibly imagine. I am so sorry.”

“And after that? After I get the temporary restraining order, what does she do? She keeps coming to my apartment drunk or high in the middle of the night, pounding on my door, screaming at me, demanding that I give her money. She says I owe it to her for everything she’s done for me. She calls me all kinds of foul and filth.”

She swiped at the tears tickling her chin.

“What happened when the cops arrived?”

“Oh, she knew how things worked. She’d get out of there before the cops got there, and she didn’t have a permanent address. God knew who she was sleeping with, probably her dealer. This has been happening well before I got the TRO. I’ve moved four times in four years, each place worse because I wouldn’t get a good reference from the last landlord.”

Ryker stopped the massage. “Fuck, Amy, where are you living now?” he demanded to know.

“It’s okay, I’m living in a good place. I’m living above my new restaurant. I bought the building just like Beatrice told me to. It has great security.”

“Thank God,” he said as he pulled her closer.

“So, see? See why we’re not a good fit?”

“Because your mom is an out-of-control addict?” Ryker asked.

“It’s worse than that. I have no point of reference on how to interact with a normal family. That’s why your invitation scared the hell out of me. It just won’t work.” Amy reached for a napkin from the coffee table but missed. Ryker snagged it for her, then gently wiped her tears away.

“My family is easy. They do all the talking. All you ever have to do is sit there and occasionally nod your head. Oh yeah, you have to root for USC.”

“Huh?”

“Always gotta root for the home team, Honey.”

Amy wiped the last tear from her face, pissed when she saw that mascara was on the napkin too. But she was going to finish her piece and settle things once and for all. She pushed off of Ryker’s lap and stood up in front of him.

“So you heard me, right? You get why and how I’m fucked up, right?”

“I thought we agreed that everybody is fucked up.”

“Stick with me, McQueen,” Amy pointed at his chest. “I’m not going to put up with your lip. I just laid myself bare; I want honesty, is that asking for too much?”

Ryker shook his head.

“So, I’m on the special side of fucked up when it comes to moms and families. Would you agree?” She lifted up her sleeve and pointed to her scar.

“Yes, Honey, I agree,” he sighed.

“So can you see that from my point of view where I think you would be better with someone else? Someone who could better fit with your family?”

“Your point of view is skewed.” Ryker yanked his fingers through his shaggy blond hair.

At last, the gentleness was gone, and his frustration was showing.

“And my last point is, I really want to have sex with you. Can we do that, and maybe skip the relationship part?”

“What did you say?”

Seeing that look on his face was priceless.

“You heard me,” she smiled.