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He may have made a statement, but his expression tells me he expects an answer.
“No he doesn’t,” I answer. “But his ego does.”
“That makes him dangerous.”
“He’s harmless,” I say, waving my hand. “He’ll sober up and regret what happened.”
“How’d you end up with a guy like him?”
“A lot of reasons. I’m a people pleaser. Our parents are friends. We’ve been together since I was in seventh grade—young, naïve, a victim of puppy love. Stupid.” I laugh when he smiles at me. “The plan has always been for us to get married. We broke up a few times recently at his request, and after our last break, I realized I didn’t want to marry him anymore.”
He blinks slowly. “What happened?”
“I met you,” I smile, feeling my cheeks flush. It feels strange to admit out loud what I’ve denied silently for weeks.
“You’re lookin’ for a rebound guy then?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “That isn’t what I meant. After the night I had with you, I realized that I’m stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I don’t want to be with a guy who makes my parents happy. I want to decide. When I get married, I want a man who respects me.”
I hate the way he frowns, and I turn my head. He pulls softly on my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I have to be honest. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you marriage.”
“I’m not asking you to make me promises,” I say and gently push his hand away. “I’m good hangin’ out in the middle.”
I swallow hard. How long I’m good hanging in limbo is the question that should be asked, although I don’t know the answer. The only thing I know for sure is that I want to spend as much time with Battle as I possibly can.
“The tour leaves for Oklahoma tomorrow. Come with me.”
He obviously wants to spend time with me, too, which thrills me. Joining him for the weekend sounds perfect. I’ll have to take time off work, but since I never take a day off, it shouldn’t be a problem.
“How long will you be there?” I ask, my voice full of excitement.
“A few days. I usually ride up with Coop and Austin. Coop has a motorhome I crash in, but we can get a hotel if you want.”
“Can I decide after I spend five hours in a motorhome with Cooper and Austin?”
He laughs, and I agree to go. I can easily get Friday and Monday off work.
We spend the next couple of hours curled up on his couch talking. Well, I do most of the talking. Battle listens, and I mean intently listens, as though he’s cataloging every detail of my life. His eyes rarely leave mine as I tell him about what a social failure I was in high school and into college. How, while my friends were living it up and partying, I chose to stay in and study.
He comments every so often about how my choices were extremely smart. Before long it’s getting late, and I still have to pick up my car from the restaurant, as well as pack fo
r an unexpected road trip.
I’m somewhat disappointed when he drives me back to my car in his truck rather than on the motorcycle. I nearly change my mind about going to Oklahoma with him when he informs me he’ll pick me at five in the morning. Even on a work day, I’m not up before seven, but the riders have to be in Oklahoma City by noon for check-in.
He gets out and opens my door. I step out of his truck, anticipation of a kiss running rampant through my thoughts, but it doesn’t come. The entire night, I waited patiently for him to make a move. He never did, and now I stand in front of him with expectations, but he clearly isn’t going to meet them.
He politely tells me good night and waits for me to get into my car before he drives away. My body may be disappointed, but my heart sings, knowing in Battle’s own way, not escalating anything physically mean he’s wholeheartedly making an effort to prove himself.
After changing into pajamas, I plop down on my bed and power on my cell phone. I turned it off at Battle’s house because I didn’t want to deal with the onslaught of questions I knew would be coming after Battle bloodied Wyatt’s lip, and I raced out the parking lot on the back of a Harley.
As expected, my parents blew up my cell with voice messages, and I have eight text messages from Wyatt. Without reading the texts, I delete them all, knowing his words are merely an effort to manipulate me or hurt me. I’m through allowing him to do either one.
I debate deleting the voicemails from my parents as well. I can guarantee my father will never accept Battle McCoy. The older I get, the more I realize what a judgmental, self-righteous jerk he can be, and my mother follows along with no real identity of her own.
The last person I want to end up like is my mother, living in the shadow of my husband without any of my own opinions or thoughts. I’d prefer to be like Grammy; an independent woman with a strong mind who wasn’t afraid to speak it, and wasn’t about to be lead astray by a man or anyone else.
The phone vibrates in my hand.
