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It was the soft sincerity of her words that got to him. Made him want things he’d never had.
Made him angry about the wanting.
“The only men in my family I ever knew growing up—my father, my uncle, my older brother—were criminals. Either in jail serving time or out of jail breaking the law.”
He stopped, the familiar feeling of shame washing over him, shutting off the words.
Matt stood. It was time to go. Football seemed so far away just then, absurd in its uselessness, yet it called to him. If he could just get home to the game, everything would be normal again—the normal he’d created these past few years.
“What did your brother do?” Her question came as he’d known it would. What he hadn’t expected was that she’d remain sitting calmly on the couch. Not threatening him with her presence. Or worse, her touch.
“He raped my baby-sitter.”
His words fell harshly into the quiet Sunday-afternoon peace of Phyllis’s home.
Shit. Where had they come from? He hadn’t thought of that day since it had happened. Hadn’t seen his brother since the cops had come to the door and put handcuffs on him, just as they’d done so many times before with their dad.
Brian had been his hero. The one who’d protected him whenever their father was out of jail and came home drunk. He’d never let the old man tease Matt or bully him into doing things Matt didn’t want to do.
Like trying to force him to look at the smut magazines all the guys were poring over. Or making fun of his mother or sister when his cruelty made them cry.
He’d cut Brian out of his life that day. Why had he suddenly entered Matt’s thoughts again?
“Being related to criminals doesn’t make you one.”
There was so much noise inside his head Matt was ready to explode. “No?” He turned, pinned her with a harsh glare—reminding himself of his father. “Then perhaps it was my years in jail that did.”
He’d never spoken so nastily to another human being in his life. Never allowed himself to be condescendingly cruel as his father had been cruel. It wasn’t the words that mattered. It was the way they were said.
Matt had learned that lesson before he’d even learned to talk.
Glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Phyllis, sitting in the same position, her weary face still wearing kindness, he knew he had to get out of there.
HER HEART WAS POUNDING a little harder than it should from the climb up the stairs to the lighting booth but Sophie decided that was because of the man she was going to see, not the exertion being asked of her body. So what if she was ten pounds under her so-called ideal weight? She was finally starting to look the way she wanted to.
It had to be Matt. There couldn’t be any other explanation, because she wasn’t going to stop losing weight. Not when she felt as great about herself as she did right now. She’d done so well yesterday. A granola bar in the morning to keep her metabolism going. Three-quarters of a cup of dry raisin bran in the afternoon for the fiber, a health bar for vitamins and then a tossed salad, no dressing, at dinnertime so she had her beta carotene. And this morning she’d been down a pound from the day before.
Her size-two pants were a little loose and her waist tiny enough to draw attention to her breasts. She felt almost good enough to face Matt Sheffield. She had no idea why he liked her so much, why he’d liked her even before she got herself together. And now, well now, she really had something to offer him.
“Hey, Mr. Sheffield,” she said as she entered the sound booth. She’d wanted to stand there and watch him work—loved the concentration on his face, the intensity in his eyes when he was creating new illusions with the lights. But she’d been afraid he’d catch her looking and think she was stupid. Or worse yet, young.
He turned just enough to give her a quick smile. “Hey, Sophie,” he said.
“You working on the new gobos for the dance show?” She moved over to stand behind him, checking out the images he was manipulating on the computer screen built into the lighting-board table.
Matt jerked kind of nervously when she brushed against his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. “Just let me finish this and I’ll be right with you.”
“Take your time.” She continued to stand there, glad she made him nervous. It showed he cared.
But she’d known that for a while. There were
days she felt certain that Matt was the only person in the world who really cared about her.
She didn’t mind, though, not as long as she had him. When you had the best, who needed anyone else?
Planning ahead, Sophie went over and sat on the old green couch. If she stayed by the board, Matt would review the schedule she’d brought him just sitting down at the table. But if she was on the couch, he’d have to join her there. They’d have an excuse to sit close, enjoy each other’s body heat, scents. Touch a bit—if only at the shoulders and hips.
She really appreciated that Matt was taking a long time to bring her along, to tutor her in the ways of older men before he made his big move on her. Not that they were all that far apart in age. Only ten years. Hell, of the five husbands her mom had had, four of them were more than ten years older. The fifth one had been eight years younger.
