Page 34 of It Hurts Me
“And it doesn’t bother them that you pay for sex?”
He stared at me across the table, not showing his annoyance even though he must have felt it. “Those are one-night fucks. Not much talking going on. I always wear a condom, so where my dick has been before them is none of their concern.”
I continued to stare at him, picturing him throwing a wad of bills at a woman in a hotel room. “So, you don’t have relationships?”
His answer was immediate. “No.”
“When was the last time you were in one?”
He grabbed his glass and took another drink. “This feels like an interrogation.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I just…want to know you more.” Neither one of us had expected to spend so much time together, so all the basic and inconsequential information had already been discovered. That left the important stuff, the deep stuff.
“Have long have you been married?”
“I said I didn’t want to talk about him.”
“And I didn’t ask about him.”
I knew if I wanted him to answer my question, I had to answer his. He was a master of conversation, controlling the temperature because he was the thermostat. “Two years. We’ve been together for three.”
He didn’t react. Didn’t voice the thought that was probably in his head—that you shouldn’t want an open marriage after just two years of matrimony. Whatever he thought, he kept it to himself. “I was in a relationship ten years ago.” He gestured to the waiter who’d been standing on the other side of the room waiting for the signal. Theo clearly wanted to change the subject because he looked at his menu. “Chicken marsala.”
I hadn’t looked at the menu, but I found something at a quick glance. “I’ll do the cheese ravioli with red sauce.”
The waiter took the menus and walked away.
I didn’t press Theo on the topic. It had red tape all over it. “I can tell you don’t want to talk about it, so I won’t pry. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.”
His fingers rested on his glass, and his eyes shifted to look at me.
I froze in his stare, feeling stuck in place by his rigidness.
“I don’t ever want to talk about it.”
Over the course of our dates, I’d gotten to know him better, but I still felt like I didn’t know him at all. However, I did see the pain in his stare, that whatever happened to him was more than a painful breakup. But I would probably never know more. “That’s okay.”
The hardness in his eyes softened slightly, seemingly touched by the way I backed off. He hadn’t interrogated me about my marriage, didn’t persecute me for the choices I’d made—the choices that I’d allowed my husband to make. I wanted to give him the same courtesy. There were things we wanted to know about each other, but we would have to settle for keeping our secrets.
“What do you think?”
I’d finished most of my dish, a couple ravioli left on the plate. “A lot better than that salad.”
He gave a slight smirk, and his face was so much more handsome when he did that.
“What about yours?”
“I’m not picky. I’ll eat anything.”
“Then I should cook for you sometime. It’ll be nice not to have any pressure.”
He wiped away a speck of sauce from the corner of his mouth before returning the linen to his lap. His plate was nearly empty, with the exception of a few mushrooms that were left behind. He washed it down with a drink from his second scotch. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I braced for whatever he wanted to know, but I was so lost in those dark eyes that it was hard to be scared. I never knew brown eyes could be so damn pretty. They had a darkness to them…but also a warmth.
“What did you do after your father died?”
That wasn’t a question I’d expected. Figured it would have something to do with my marriage. “That was a hard time in my life. I stopped my classes, slept around a lot because I felt alone. When I lost my home…I lost myself.”