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“Chosen, I’ll tell you whatever you want, but you must promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“You can’t ever ask me to stop.”
She slumps back into the chair and stares at me for a long, silent, breath-stopping moment. “Okay.” She shrugs.
“Really? You have no problem with that?”
“Sure.” She hefts her shoulders again. “But I can’t make any promises. I won’t change my mind if I fall in love with you.”
Oh, wow. I didn’t expect that shit to come tumbling out of her mouth. Love. Who’s talking about love? We’re not heading down that road, right? Who the fuck am I kidding? I wouldn’t know love if it hit me square in the face. Sure, I think about her twenty-four seven. I want to be with her every second of the day, and if anything hurt her, I’d kill it. But I’m not in love with her, right?
She sets her forearms on the table. “You okay with that?”
I repeatedly blink, stuttering with my eyes because I can’t find my words.
“I mean.” She clamps her hands together and leans in. “I’d understand if you want to pull out now.”
I laugh. “You keep trying, but it’s not going to happen.”
“What?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I stand and walk over to her. “I’m not pulling out. I’m not tossing in the towel. You, my beautiful, sexy pain in the ass, are stuck with me.” I lean down and kiss her.
Chapter 25
I swing Lix’s door open. “Shit!”
Standing sexy as ever in front of the stove and cooking something that smells delicious, Lix looks at me from over his shoulder. “Not shit. Spaghetti.” He waves his spoon in the air with a smile.
“No. That smells great. I just ripped my nail.” I shake my finger, setting my bag on the counter. “It’s one of those shallow ones. It hurts like hell.”
“You better clip it down.” He chuckles. “There are some nail clippers, top drawer in the tall chest in my room.” He points with the spoon.
“Thanks,” I say, shoving my finger into my mouth to suck away the sting as I head for his room.
“It’s in a black case,” he yells.
I pull open the drawer. Shifting things around, I find tape, a screwdriver, pens, receipts, and random scribblings on paper and realize I just found Lix’s junk drawer. I spot the black case, open it, and pull out the clippers.
My eyes snap to the long cream-colored tube pressed along the far edge of the drawer. I reach for it and pull it out.
No. It can’t be. I carry it out to the kitchen and hold it up. “Is this your recorder?”
He wipes his hands on a kitchen towel and then tosses it over his shoulder. He walks to me. “You found it in my drawer, didn’t you?”
Always the smart-ass. “I mean, is thistherecorder? The one you had when you were a kid?”
He takes the recorder from my hand and looks down at it. “Yes.” He twists it. “The very one.”
“You’ve kept it all this time?”
“Twenty years.” He looks up with an unreadable expression on his gorgeous face.
“You were able to hang onto it all this time?”
“Yes. I took it everywhere—every group home, on the streets, and in juvie. I almost lost it when I was on the streets. Some kid stole my backpack, but I found him. He was with a group of other kids.” He lifts his shirt and points the recorder at a scar on his chest. “They beat the shit out of me, but I didn’t let go.” He grins, proud of himself.
