I have to hold up the plate for a few seconds before he caves under the perfection that is our mojito tacos and takes it.
“You’re asking why I’m the way I am. Why I’ve accepted less than I deserved, or maybe not that. Why I didn’t pursue what I wanted, instead of letting it go because the stakes could be too high.”
“I said all that?” He chews slowly, watching me through narrowed eyelids.
He didn’t, but he implied it. I nibble my bottom lip, unsure what he’s gleaned from my admission. I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol for this discussion.
“Which is it?” he asks. “Did you accept something or did you pursue nothing?”
Dax is so much deeper than his exterior suggests. Either I play his game and rise to his level, or I turn and run. It’s a good jog to the house from here. Just sayin’.
On a sigh, I admit, “A bit of both at varying intervals.”
He swipes his teeth with his tongue, which shouldn’t be sexy but somehow is.
He slides his ass back so his legs hang off the edge of the bed of his Jeep and then props himself up with his elbows. He looks out at the field, but I have the impression his mind’s 100 percent on me.
I gather our plates and he says nothing. Not even when I move to the fire and throw them in, poking them with a sturdy stick he’s found for that purpose. I stab it into the ground like a post and turn to find his eyes on me, his body still propped by his elbows. Next to the bouquet of yellow and purple wildflowers, his rugged jeans-and-tee-and-boots combo clashes. I walk toward him, each step bringing me closer and closer to an outcome I don’t want.
I don’t want to talk about who I am or who I’ve been. I don’t want to talk about his past hurts and failures. I don’t want to expose our delicate underbellies.
I don’t want to know any more about him because I’m afraid that on the other side of that is a scary emotion I’d rather avoid. The walls climb, the metal gates drop, yet when I reach the Jeep, the impossible emerges from my mouth.
“Are we officially throwing out the rule about not talking about our pasts?”
His eyebrows lift subtly, but there’s no missing his surprise.
“As long we promise not to hold it against each other,” I tack on.
“Never, Princess. You’re my new business partner, so I can’t see how blackmailing you could benefit me.”
Oh, he’s sly. I smile. He doesn’t return the smile with his mouth, but mirth dances in his pale blue eyes.
He sets aside the bottle holding the wilting wildflowers and pats an empty spot on the quilt next to him. I hop onto the bed of the Jeep—our shared bed this evening.
“However,” I say as I make myself as comfortable as possible, “I will require a few more drinks. Or shots.”
Dax reaches under a blanket in the back of the Jeep and comes out with whiskey. He waggles the bottle at me. “What’s your pleasure, Princess?”
Dax
I laugh, which feels great. It uncoils the tension that’s been strung tight for far too long. Becca’s giggling too, at her own expense, I’m afraid.
“That’s a hell of a prom story.” We’ve moved to sit on the log by the fire. I reach for the whiskey bottle resting in the grass. It was three quarters full when we started and is now flirting with empty. I splash some into my plastic cup and hand it to her. I don’t normally get sauced, but what the hell? I’m on vacation and Becca promised to share deep, dark secrets if she had some primer.
We started light. Dumb shit we did when we were teenagers. The way we looked at life as kids. That sort of thing. Now, though, as we tip back our shots, the fire crackling at our feet, the air shifts. She scoots closer, complaining she’s cold even though she’s wrapped in a blanket. I hug her close, not all that warm myself. When the sun went down, the temperature plummeted.
“We can sleep in the house if you want,” I offer.
“Why?”
“Because I can hear your teeth clacking together.”
She gives me a playful shove but snuggles close immediately after.
“We’ll climb into the same sleeping bag tonight to keep warm,” she says.
“I like the sound of that.” I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her with my arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Should I start?”
“Start what?” She tips her chin to look at me and I put a kiss on her lips this time.
“Sharing the real shit we swore not to talk about.”
“Oh. That.”
“Yeah, that.”
“I’m sufficiently buzzed to participate, so I’d say it’s now or never.”
Now, it is. I take a breath but realize this isn’t going to be so hard, since we’ve had several warm-up pitches.
“My last girlfriend was named Courtney. We’d been together about two years, and I was sure we were headed for something serious. All the signs were there. The way you assume you have a date for parties. You hang at each other’s parents’ for holidays or cookouts. You know.”
Becca stays quiet, I assume to let me finish.
“We weren’t living together yet, so I asked her to move in. She left me. Not long after that she started dating some schmuck she worked with who was half my size. I couldn’t figure out what she wanted with a mousy guy, but then I realized that it wasn’t him she wanted as much as it was me she didn’t want.” I toss another split log on the fire. “I guess it was then that I decided, No more. No sense in looking forward and making plans when all that lies ahead is getting left behind. She undid what we had, and we’d worked hard to get there. She swapped me out and left me at ground zero. She was whole; I was fractured. Explain that.”
Those last two words I didn’t even mean to say.
“Guess I have unfinished business with her,” I admit. “I’m not in love with her anymore. It shouldn’t sting so much that she went.” Becca says nothing, so I nudge her with my elbow. “You asleep?”
“No.” She tsks and sits back to look at me when she speaks. “I was thinking how I can’t explain it. I’ve never actually been in a situation like that.”
“Never been left for someone else?”
“Well, it doesn’t go that far for me. I’ve never had an assumed date for holidays, and I’ve only met the parents one time, and that was my prom date.”
“Sounds like a great intro to your turn, Princess.”
I wonder how much she’ll share.
Becca
“I’ve never spelled it out for anyone,” I say. “Maybe not even myself.”
“I’ve never told anyone about Courtney before.” His eyebrows jump as if that’s a realization.
I’m not completely sober, but I’m far from drunk. I’m in that loosey-goosey veil when you’ve had enough to drop your inhibitions.
More than my inhibitions has dropped—my guard has dropped. I see so clearly what I didn’t before Dax started talking about his ex. He and I are two lonely souls.
“I don’t have any relationship stories to tell,” I start. “I don’t have relationships. I’ve had hookups. I’ve gone to parties. I’ve had disastrous dates that have ended without kisses good night.”