Instead of answering, one shoulder rose and fell. She assumed that meant she could continue. She had also learned in the very short amount of time they’d spent together, if he didn’t want to answer, he wouldn’t.
“You speak very deliberately.”
He lifted the bottle to his lips, drained the last of his beer and put the empty bottle down on the patio. All slow and deliberate, similar to how he spoke. “Not a question.”
Okay, then. She’d follow up her inquiry with a very simple question. “Why?”
He stared at her for longer than she expected before he asked a question of his own. “It matter?”
She kept telling herself that anything and everything about him shouldn’t. But that was a lie. “I’m curious.” More than curious. It had been bugging her.
“Why?”
Yes, Chelle, why? “I’m a librarian. Words are my life.” That was partially the truth.
“Books.”
She shook her head. “No, not just books. Words in all forms. Stories, documentaries, lyrics, speeches. I love it all. Spoken, written, sung.” She glanced over at him, and watched his profile as he continued to stare out through the yard. “So, of course, I’m going to notice when someone picks their words carefully.” She paused, questioning her next question, but, screw it, she pushed on. “Do you have a stutter?”
“No.”
She waited. Either he would expand on that answer or he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t force him. It could be he was embarrassed about whatever it was and she didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable. But he also had to feel the natural rapport between the two of them, right?
She couldn’t be imagining it.
He turned and stared at her for a long minute, during which she actually held her breath, and finally answered, “Maybe I like to be careful with what I say. Once somethin’s said, hard to take those words back.”
While that was true, that wasn’t the reason he spoke in the manner he did. If it wasn’t a stutter, then it was something else. Possible head trauma in the past, or some sort of disability. Because in the last two days they’d spent together, he’d also mixed up words.
She’d caught it a couple of times when she was sure he wasn’t aware of it. The couple of times he was, he quickly corrected himself. Every time it happened, it was when he spoke at a faster clip. Almost as if his brain misfired.
She wanted to dig deeper, but also didn’t want him to clam up.
She enjoyed the easy companionship he provided. It was nice to have a conversation with an adult, even though he didn’t speak a lot. She was around young children all day and her girls at home. Occasionally her brother or sister-in-law popped over, but they were both busy so neither stayed long. Now that the girls were older, they usually only checked in, unless it was a holiday, then the two families spent more time together.
And the staff at work... Well, she rarely had any kind of long conversations with any of them. She ate her lunch in her office or she stepped outside, if the weather was nice. But even after all these years, she really hadn’t forged any close relationships. Like in high school, the school staff had their cliques.
All of that was probably why she spent a lot of time talking to herself. Or reading. Or listening to audiobooks and podcasts. Watching a classic movie by herself or a newer movie with her girls. Or just losing herself in music while cleaning or cooking.
The only time she felt lonely was when she thought of Brendan. Other than that, she was fine with her own company.
When he didn’t say anything more on it, she finished her beer and stood. “I’ll get you another.”
He didn’t get up to leave, or claim he didn’t want another beer, so she headed inside and grabbed two more.
When she came back out, his arms were folded behind his head and his eyes were shut. But they opened when she stopped next to him.
He held out his hand for his beer but after tucking it between his thighs, he held out his hand again. She handed him hers and he twisted off the top for her. As he handed it back, he let his fingers slowly slide over hers, but didn’t pull away completely.
Such a simple touch, such a complex reaction.
She didn’t pull away, either, when he wrapped his hand tighter over hers.
His Adam’s apple bobbed once. Twice. “Chelle?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes.” Honestly, no matter what he asked next, she was pretty damn sure she’d say that same answer.
And that could be reckless.
But he didn’t ask anything. Nothing at all. He only took a few silent moments to stare up at her as she stared down at him while their hands remained connected.
Eventually his fingers twitched over hers. An unspoken message to accompany his words. “My brain sometimes hiccups. So, to hide it—when I’m forced to speak—I do it slowly. Like now. I choose my words carefully and think them through first so I don’t fuck up. Sometimes you might hear me say the wrong word.”
“Sometimes you catch it...” she began.
He tilted his head but didn’t say anything more.
“Sometimes you don’t,” she finished. “Do you know why?”
“Got an idea.”
He only had an idea? His issue hadn’t been diagnosed by a professional? “Head trauma?”
“No.”
She waited and when he didn’t continue, she wanted to scream in frustration. He didn’t have to tell her anything, but he told her enough for her to want more. She needed to know more.
She wanted to machine gun more questions at him. He couldn’t just leave her hanging. That wasn’t fair.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Life isn’t fair. You know that, Chelle.
She knew that only too well.
Her eyes popped open when he tugged on her hand holding the beer. Did he want her beer?
No.
That was not what he wanted.
He gently tugged again.
Was she going to give him what he wanted?
It wouldn’t be smart to sit on his lap, so instead she perched on the arm of the chair, trying to keep most of her weight off it, just in case it wasn’t strong enough to hold her. She kept her eyes locked on him even when he didn’t release her hand and his other slipped under the oversized shirt, curled around her hip over her leggings and squeezed.
Holding her there, but not trapping her. Though, the slow back and forth slide of his thumb over the fabric at her hip might as well be a restraint. She couldn’t pull away even if she tried.
She fought the urge to slip into his lap, what he originally wanted, and forced herself to remain where she was instead. To try to keep a grasp on reality.
Because right now, she really wanted to experience her fantasy. A night of her and Shawn connected in a more intimate way. No invading thoughts of kids, their difference in age, or what he belonged to.
Which was a motorcycle gang.
She had no idea what a group of bikers involved themselves in. Only what she’d generally read or seen in the news. Or the little she’d heard around town when it came to Shawn’s MC specifically. Though after this weekend, she planned on doing some research.
However, what she’d heard about bikers involved violence, drugs, guns and run-ins with both law enforcement and other motorcycle clubs.
Even if he wanted her and she allowed herself to have him—even for a few hours—she didn’t want any of that touching her daughters in any way.