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My gut twisted as I listened to him so nonchalantly announce something like that. I’d seen his back before, so I knew he had to have been beaten once upon a time. I just figured school bullies though, or someone else he hadn’t been related to. To learn it had been his own mother, the one woman who was supposed to protect him from all kinds of bad shit, made me want to look that bitch up and beat her. It also made me want to call my own mom and tell her how fucking awesome she was.
But it’d been too long since I’d voluntarily called her, so...yeah, didn’t want to give the old broad a heart attack or anything.
I was just starting to feel shitty about how I treated my parents while they might possibly be the best parents in the world when Blondie had to go and say, “My dad didn’t need alcohol to hit me. So, I don’t know why I was always so scared to drink. I guess I’m just an overall coward.”
My eyes grew wide with that little piece of information.
Well, shit. Both of them had been abused? No wonder they’d turned out so much alike.
Fuck, I really was an ungrateful asshole to my mom and dad.
“You’re not a coward,” Quinn insisted, taking Blondie’s hand. “You’re...you’re...resilient.”
I squinted, wondering how the fuck “resilient” was such a complimentary word to use on a chick, but hey...to each their own, I guess, because the freaking word seemed to work on Blondie.
She murmured, “Thank you,” and stared at him with a pair of longing green eyes that made me want to reach across the table and thump Hamilton on the back of the head. Hard.
Prime opportunity to kiss her, I wanted to tell him.
Kiss her already.
Why wasn’t he kissing her?
God, what a pansy.
Instead of kissing, they just kept staring until Ham blinked and then grinned. “Staring contest?” he offered.
Dear fuck. Really?
I groaned and covered my face. I was going to have to work on my boy, big time. Who the hell offered a staring contest instead of kissing a girl? I might actually have to defriend him after tonight.
Blondie laughed and glanced away, blinking rapidly. “God, no.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’ve never been able to play very long in a staring game before.”
“It makes your eyes water too much?” Hamilton guessed.
She shook her head. “No. It’s just...too intimate, I guess.”
I lifted an eyebrow. Wow. If staring was too intimidating for her, I’d hate to see what she’d do if I made her watch some porn.
Thank God, Hamilton seemed similarly bewildered. He barked out a surprised laugh. “Staring? Intimate?”
“Hey, don’t make fun of me.” She pushed lightly on his arm. “Staring is like step two in the Twelves Stages of Intimacy.”
“Wait.” I held up a hand and leaned in, feeling the need to interrupt. “The twelve stages of what?”
Blondie glanced at me, before turning back to Quinn. “Intimacy,” she repeated before gazing between the two of us. “Haven’t you guys ever heard of Desmond Morris’s twelve steps of intimacy before?”
Ham and I both shook our heads. “Who? What? No, never heard of him.”
She laughed. “Desmond Morris. He’s this famous behavioral scientist, or something. I don’t know. He wrote a bunch of books about studying the mating patterns of human couples.”
Ham’s eyebrows arched with interest. “And you’ve actually read one of his books?”
“No.” She blushed. “But I read a small five hundred-word article about his famous twelve steps.”
I let out a surprised snort of laughter. “What a nerd.” She was totally meant for my biology-loving roommate.
“Hey,” she muttered, insulted. But Quinn waved her quiet.
