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“What’s with the fancy restaurant, Pretty Boy?” She looked around. “You think I’m a sure thing if you buy me dinner?”
I tipped my brows up. “I think you’re a sure thing whether I buy you dinner, or not.” Her expression turned scathing, and I tossed her a boyish grin. “But my mother raised me better than that.”
Lissa scoffed and reached for the jug, filling both glasses halfway. Her eyes didn’t meet mine when she asked, “You take every girl you sleep with out on dates?”
My lips twitched. “Thought this wasn’t a date.”
She placed the jug back down and narrowed her eyes on me. “Just answer the fucking question, Bradshaw.”
I chuckled. “No, Snow Queen, I don’t take every girl I have sex with out on dates.”
Her brows pulled together a little, head tipping to the side, but I caught the way her chest rose. “Why bother then? If you can get laid without going to all this effort.”
There was something in her tone that clashed with the air of indifference she was trying to project. Something I really fucking liked the sound of. Lissa liked knowing she meant more than the others.
I wasn’t here to play games; I wanted her. For more than sex. I wanted the parts of her she gave to no one else. I wanted to be the person she trusted to open herself up to. Whatever was happening between us, I wanted to acknowledge it, see where it led. And I was fully prepared to let her know that.
Inching forward in my seat, I waited until I had her eyes before lowering my voice and murmuring, “I don’t want to fuck just anyone, Lissa. I want to fuck you. Only you. Repeatedly. And if I’m going to fuck you again, and again, and again…” I paused, watching her shoulders rise, and her pupils dilate, “I want to take you out, and I want to make an effort.”
She swallowed hard, her throat convulsing, fingers tightening around the glass in her hand. Those steady blue eyes held mine, shifting, searching, before looking away. She wanted to believe it wasn’t all bullshit, but it wasn’t that easy with Lissa. It would take more than words. If she gave me the chance, I’d fucking show her.
From the start, back when all I wanted was to get her hands around my dick again, I’d known it would be a challenge. I wasn’t about to back down now. Pretty sure I couldn’t if I wanted to, anyway.
She lifted the glass to her mouth and took a sip, keeping her eyes averted as she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips to collect a bead of moisture. “So, you’ve been working construction?”
I laughed softly at the subject change, dipping my head in concession. Seeing my snow queen flustered and trying not to show it might just be my new favorite thing. I’d go easy on her.
“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “It’s decent work. Pay’s okay, there’s a good group of guys there. I don’t hate it, but it’s not the dream.”
My words drew her attention back. “What is the dream, Leon Bradshaw?” Her tone was almost wistful, intrigued, and I cocked my head as I stared at her.
She’d have you believe she had zero fucks to give about anything, but this girl had fucks in abundance. She just tried to hide that fact.
I shifted forward, sliding my arms across the table. “I don’t want to build houses. I want to design them.”
I hadn’t realized I was seeking her approval until admiration flared in her eyes. “That’s a good dream,” she said quietly.
Patting my chest, I gave a light cough. “I’m going to apply to an architecture program at the Friedman College of the Arts. I’ll work at the site for the next year to put some money away to help with tuition, but I don’t plan on being stuck here laying bricks all my life, Lissa.”
Her chest swelled on a breath before she looked down. My gaze lingered on the glimmering candlelight dancing over the slope of her cheekbone, and a feeling of contentment seeped through my bones. Somewhere along the way, I’d started to picture a future with her in it, and I wanted her to know I had something to offer her. Give her some food for thought. I spent my days building walls up, but brick by brick, I was going to dismantle the one Lissa had constructed around her heart.
I strummed my fingers over the tablecloth, debating how far to push. “What’s your dream, Alissa Bedford?”
She shifted, then shrugged, the move almost nonchalant, but her eyes clouded over, emotion swirling through them. I watched her with pinched brows and a healthy dose of curiosity.
With Lissa, you usually saw what she wanted you to see—the tip of the iceberg—but I was looking harder now, closer. She’d probably let me in farther than any other guy in her life, but it still felt like I’d barely skimmed the surface, and I wanted so much fucking more from her.
Her head lowered as she lifted a fingertip and stroked it around the edge of the glass. “My plans have changed.” She swallowed hard. “My mom’s sick.”
Those quiet words confirmed what I’d already surmised, but my chest tightened at the pain lingering in her voice. I reached further across the table and touched the tip of my finger to hers, holding it there without speaking.
She looked up through thick lashes, then cleared her throat. The vulnerability shining in her crystalline eyes triggered every protective instinct I possessed. I was more than aware that she had her own built-in defense mechanism—I was still trying to circumnavigate it—but right now, all I wanted was to reach across the table, pull her into my lap, and fucking hold her.
“She has young onset Alzheimer’s,” she continued, her pointer finger stilling on the glass, her voice monotone, like she was trying to dissociate herself from her words. “She’s slowly losing her memories, her ability to function. I’m not going back to college. I need to stay here, to take care of her.”
She shrugged and looked away. I shifted again and closed my hand around hers; it seemed so fucking fragile in my grip. My chest squeezed thinking of her sacrificing her life at nineteen to take care of her mom. It was too much of a burden for her to take on all alone. I assumed Bree was helping, but where was Lissa’s fucking dad? She never talked about him. I knew he was a lawyer, that he’d moved to the city after he and her mom divorced a few years back, but surely, he had some fucking responsibility to be there for his kids, even if he wasn’t with their mother.
“What about your Aunt Bree? Your dad? Do you still see him?” I asked, and her head came up, face hard.
