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Jet snorted. “Guess Jethro is better than ‘pub’s car park’ or ‘toilet stall at concert’ or ‘back seat of my dad’s sedan’.”
I snorted and then covered up by laughing.
Jet grinned. “Hey, it’s not like I’ve ever asked where exactly at the tribute band concert they did the deed.”
“So romantic,” I said in a breathy voice, pretending to swoon.
The towel around my head unravelled, and I gave up on it, shaking out my shoulder-length hair.
“What about your name?” he asked, his voice deeper again. “What does Ari mean?”
“I looked this up once. Pretty random stuff.” I found myself a little self-conscious. “It means lioness. Or ‘of God’. It’s Hebrew or something. Or it also can mean ‘from a noble family’.” I chuckled with a shrug. “Or it’s sort of Welsh? It’s formed from the Welsh word for silver. It’s a versatile name across cultures and occasions.”
I picked up my knife and fork and placed them on my plate.
“Silver lioness sounds badass,” Jet murmured.
I huffed, not sure why I felt so pleased with the way he was looking at me or the way he said ‘badass’.
“Nothing badass about me.”
“I dunno, going on a solo trip around Australia by yourself is pretty badass.”
“Mum thinks it’s a dumb idea,” I mumbled, my thumbnail tracing the grain of the wooden tabletop.
“Nah, definitely badass.”
I looked up. Jet looked so sincere and genuine. He winked.
I looked back down at my plate. “Thanks. For breakfast and badassery comments.”
“What’s something your mother taught you growing up?”
Jet had chosen another speed dating card.
“Sorry,” I whispered, feeling a cold lump in my stomach. “Hard pass on Debra.” I chanced a peek at Jet as he stood, taking his plate. “What about you? What did you learn from your mother?”
“You really want to know?”
I nodded.
He put on the kettle and leant against the kitchen counter, studying me. The man looked at me like he could see my thoughts. I felt naked before him.
“You thought I was an idiot for believing in love, but I gotta admit, my parents are living proof it can happen. They are still in love, like teenagers. When I turned fourteen, Mum sat me down for a chat. She taught me never to go to bed angry with your partner, to treat women of all ages with respect and how to cook. Including French toast.”
I smiled in spite of myself. Debra hadn’t even taught me how to cook. Ash had done that.
“All I’m saying is you’ve only been with Wes, and on that basis, you’ve decided to give up on love.”
My smile faded. “Dad left us when I was twelve, and I’ve never seen him since. He told Mum he loved her. He told me and Ash he loved us. He lied.”
Jet’s face fell. “I’m sorry.” The kettle began its ear-piercing squeal. He flicked it off. “Look, I?—”
“Still, that’s only two men,” I said, cutting him off while spearing more French toast. “Gotta be more examples out there of guys who mean it when they say they love you.”
I bit into the French toast and groaned, my eyes rolling into the back of my head.Divine.I looked up to find Jet staring.
“Seriously,” I said, holding up the last forkful of French toast. “This is sex on a plate. No, better than sex.”
