“Welcome to the life of never-ending shit.”

Not being able to look at him while talking was better; he always stared into me while we talked. “It feels like my mom is dying all over again. I don’t do well in these situations. Escapism made me feel better when shit hit the fan, but I’m guessing I won’t be able to escape this time. That’s the part that is freaking me out and making me feel trapped. And don’t even get me started on my aunt...”

“And here I was thinking we were so different. Your escapism looks different than mine, but it’s still escaping all the same.”

“By being a man slut?” I laughed and kicked him.

Having a heart to heart with the punchiest man I’ve ever seen was also not on my bingo card this year.

“If that’s how you want to label it. The baseball star. The playboy. The guy no one wants to mess with because he’ll kick the shit out of you. My grandfather didn’t get the title ‘Dictator’ for no reason. He expects rigidity. Excellence.” He let out a sigh and looked over at me. The softness in his eyes came through. “So why give a damn about anything? You’re the first one to put up a challenge and it’s different–I like it.”

“Different? Weren’t you just saying–”

“Yes, different. You sat and had food with me. Despite your protest, you came out with me a second time. Normally, I get hit up and it’s a quick fuck and I dip.”

I cringed.

He continued. “If they wanted more out of me, it was after I fucked them. You didn’t even seem to want to come within a ten-mile radius of me half the time.”

Looking at him, he was just another egotistical guy. Tattoos. Short hair. Leather jacket. The guy who rode a motorcycle to get girls to drop their panties, smoked like it was his second language, and fought like he had nothing to lose. Like he didn’t care about anything or anyone, kept everyone at arm’s length, except when it came to the girls who did drop their panties.

And he criticized my discernment skills. Asshole.

“I’ve never really thought about getting my rocks off. That’s never happened anyway.”

Propped up on his elbow now, he stared at me in the dark. “It’s because you want something real.”

“If only people were real,” I sighed, flopping my arms out. “Your jacket is in my closet, by the way.”

His hand found its way to my arm, his touch somewhere between comforting and seductive. A fine line to walk. The warmth of his skin on mine sent a shiver through me.

“I’ll be sure to let your groupies know that they can’t have it.”