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“No, Fontaine.”
After a momentary sigh of relief, he points out, “But your father’s a Toomey.”
“Yeah, but he thought Fontaine was a better name. That’s why Gary had my mom use hers on my birth certificate. He also might have wanted to run out on her and claim I wasn’t his kid.”
“He sounds like an asshole.”
“He’s my daddy,” I mumble, pretending to be hurt by his words.
West instantly relaxes his stubbled jaw. “Are you close?”
“Yes. He practically raised me after my mom died.”
“How did she pass?”
“She fell off a bridge while taking a selfie during a romantic trip to Jersey.”
“Really?”
Losing my temper and forgetting to charm the hunk until my food arrives, I ask, “Should I have said cancer or killed by a drunk driver?”
“No, I want the truth,” he says, wary of me.
“Did I mess up your plans for the day?”
West’s tight jaw softens again. “For five fricking years, I’ve been waiting to see you again, Alexis. This right here is making my day.”
I’m taken aback by the raw emotion behind his words. There’s no “swoon under the power of my muscles and natural good looks” bravado. And, five years ago, he did ask my family about me. His interest is as real as the ink across his tanned flesh. Can I actually have a real conversation with this stellar hunk with his sunny smile and sky-blue eyes?
No, no, I can’t.
Because I’m my mom!
And she loved with all her heart a sleazy man with dumb dreams.
The same guy who goaded her on when she did that bridge-selfie bullshit. Not out of malice but stupidity.
I come from anti-bright people with a long history of making terrible life choices. Right now, I’m starting fresh with a nifty couch in a cool duplex in a new town. Plus, I’m starting my own business!
No way will I piss away those opportunities over this impossibly sexy man.
Not even if he buys me a whole damn supreme pizza! And a pitcher of orange crush! And one of those chocolate brownie sundaes I see at the next table! Not even then!
