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His brow crinkles as he considers that. “But then wouldn’t they have seen through her?”
“I know, right? That’s what I kept saying!”
He’s still chuckling as he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Dad used to date a girl who did roller derby.”
“Are they still together?” I ask, suddenly intensely curious to hear about his life.
“Nah.” He pauses for a moment. “They were always on again, off again. ‘Off’ when Dad got taken out. But when they were on, man…” He grins, skimming right over the part where I’m pretty sure he just told me his father was murdered. “We used to have some fun. She was a wildcat. No fear at all, and she could talk him into taking us to the craziest places.”
He goes on, relaxed and easy, sharing a few lighthearted stories that have me smiling. But when he winds down, I can’t stop myself from asking the question that’s been buzzing in the back of my mind ever since he mentioned his father.
“How old were you when your dad died?”
His eyes go flat, and he finishes off the last half inch of whiskey in his glass before refilling it. “Fourteen,” he says after a minute.
I guess that’s all he wants to give me, so I’m not sure why I don’t just leave it alone. “Was it just the two of you, then?”
He’s never mentioned his mother.
Dante nods, then takes a deep swallow of whiskey.
I wonder what he did once he was on his own, if he ever saw the roller derby woman again, how he took care of himself. But what I end up asking is, “How did he die?”
He finishes off his drink again, then stares into the empty glass, a storm cloud passing over his face.
Fuck. My stomach clenches with nerves, but it’s not the same as this morning, with Logan. I’m not as unnerved by Dante as I am by Logan, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he picked up and left just like Logan did, now that I’ve crossed over into something that’s obviously too personal.
And maybe it would be better for both of us if he did, but… I don’t want that.
I chew my lip, grasping for something to say to get us back into the easy-going mood I just ruined.
Before I can come up with anything, he sighs, then looks up at me with a wry grin. “Need a refill?”
“Yup.” I shoot the rest of my whiskey, almost choking on the quick burn, and hold out my glass.
He laughs, pours us each another, then leans back, kicking out his legs as the tension in his face eases and his charming smile returns. “Tell me more about your sister. She as tough as you?”
“I made sure she doesn’t have to be,” I say, pushing away thoughts of how that might not be true anymore.
“Yeah? And how did you go about that?” Dante asks. He leans a little closer, twisting a lock of my blue and purple hair around his finger.
“She used to get bullied a little in high school,” I say, plucking a random story out of my memory. “She didn’t want to tell me about it at first, but once I found out…”
“Let me guess.” He smirks. “You showed up and kicked the mean girls’ asses for her.”
I scoff. “Girls?Please. It was this prick who thought he was a bigshot because he was captain of the wrestling team.”
Dante laughs. “Twice as big as you and twice as mean?”
“No one’s twice as mean,” I say, cocking a challenging eyebrow at him.
“I dunno, princess.” His voice drops to a low burn, and he tugs gently on the strand of hair he’s still holding, “You seem pretty sweet to me.”
“Don’t fool yourself.” I lick my lips, my cheeks suddenly feeling warm as something flutters in my stomach. The way he’s looking at me reminds me too much of the first night we met, and I look away before he can read those thoughts on my face.
“I think you should cut me off,” I murmur, swirling the remaining whiskey in my glass before emptying it.
“Sure,” Dante says easily. “Whatever you say.”
