Finders Keepers

Page 21

Josie groaned and wielded that knife in such a way I was inclined to take a few steps back with my hands lifted. “Not you too. I thought you were the only one on my team. I thought if one person had my back and wouldn’t tell me what to do, how to do it, and play the goddamned puppeteer in my life, it would be you! Jesus Christ, you’re the poster child for being your own person and to hell with the rest of them. You can’t give me—ME—the same thing?” Josie’s face was red again, but it wasn’t thanks to a flush from thinking salacious thoughts.
“Two things, Joze.” I stepped back just to be safe. “Are you planning on continuing to hack that pie to pieces? If so, I’ll get the blender and milk ready, and we’ll serve cherry pie milkshakes instead.” The corners of her mouth curved up, and she gave the pie one more “hack.” “And numero dos . . . I do have your back, I am on your team, and I don’t want anyone but you to be the puppeteer of your life. Although strings on you and me playing master sounds like the kind of night I don’t want to miss out on.” If that comment didn’t make her come at me with the knife, I was good to go, so I stepped toward her until we were touching again. We exhaled at the same time. “But all jokes, teasing, and sadomasochism aside, Joze, it’s your life. You only get one shot at it, so live it like that.”
“Do I want to know how you know about sadomasochism?”
“It isn’t from personal experience, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I slid a piece of hair behind her ear and ran my hand down her back. “I haven’t crossed that off the bucket list yet. Wanna give me a hand with that?”
“I’m sure your hand’s been giving you plenty of help with that.”
“More help than I can handle.”
Josie gave a small laugh as the anger drained from her face. From hot to cold, breathing fire to soft laughs in five seconds. We were so much alike I sometimes felt like I was dealing with the female me. And yes, I know that being hardcore attracted to someone I felt was me with tits and a vag**a said a shitload about my psyche I didn’t want to even skim the surface of.
“And that whole on-my-team admission includes letting me decide to do whatever I want or don’t want to do with Colt? Like going to his place tonight or to the hillbilly hoe-down?”
“I’m on your team with everything but for one exception. The Colt exception.”
Josie plated the first piece of pie and handed it to me. I did my thing and plopped a glob of ice cream on it. “Colt and I have dated on and off for a while. You know that, right?”
“More off than on though, right?” I really didn’t want to know anything about Colt and Josie’s history, but apparently my carnal need-to-know did.
“More the other way around,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“Eh, really? You could have your pick of the litter, and you choose the phony, poser runt who thinks cowboy is a noun, not a verb?”
“And you think if I made a different choice, perhaps with a ‘verb’ cowboy like yourself, I’d be so much better off?” She plated another piece of pie and handed it to me.
I inhaled. I exhaled. I repeated. I needed to make sure I really wanted to say it. Should I say it? Would she want me to? Did I want me to? Ah, hell with it. “There’s only one way to find out. There’s only one way to know if you’d be better off with someone like”—I swallowed and stuck my thumb into my chest—“me.”
When she plated the next piece of pie, she slowly faced me. She wasn’t smiling like I’d said something wonderful or glaring like I’d said something stupid. She wasn’t doing much of anything other than studying me. I’d been studied by Josie so much in the past twenty-four hours, I felt close to transparent. I didn’t even know what she was looking for or what she was finding, but I felt about as see-through as that window behind her.
“Let me get this straight, Garth, because the past couple of days have been a bit complicated . . . and twice as confusing.” She tilted her head, staring into depths of me I didn’t know were there. “You want me to call off a long-term, stable, supportive relationship—”
“On-again, mostly off-again relationship,” I added. If she was about to make some big statement, I wanted the facts straight.
She continued, hardly fazed by my interruption. “You want me to basically stop going down this path I’ve been on for a while and try out another trail. One that’s rocky, and steep, and dangerous. One I’ll never know when it will run out and end in a steep drop-off. Which will leave me with nowhere to go besides backward or over the face of that cliff. When and if that jagged, scary trail ends, I’ll be abandoned and unsure if I can even make it back to the path I’d been on before.”
I didn’t blink. I didn’t interrupt, or shake my head, or disagree. Everything she was saying was right on. Everything she was saying about the trail she’d navigate if she gave me a chance was right. Except for one thing. If she was brave enough to take that first step, and I was brave enough to let her, there wouldn’t be an end. I knew the trail we’d walk together would be a hard one, but I wouldn’t ever leave her alone on it. Of course, thinking all of that was one thing. Getting it out in an articulate, heartfelt manner was another.
“You want me to up and change huge parts of my life because we’ve spent a confusing and complicated and wonderful and terrifying twenty-four hours together?”
I only heard one thing in what she’d just said—wonderful—and it made me smile. She seemed to be done and waiting for me to respond. Given the way she continued to examine me, working up a response took a few seconds. “Yes, that’s what I want. But this isn’t about what I want. This is about what you want.”
The kitchen was shrinking, the walls were closing in. Everything was closing in around me in expectation of how I would say it and how she would respond. “You’re the one who has everything to lose. Let’s face it, the only things I have left to lose are my boots and whatever scrap of dignity I have left. You have the world at your fingertips, and I have the weight of it on my shoulders. I know the man I am, and I know that I’m nowhere close to deserving of you . . . But if you feel anything for me like I feel for you, I’m asking you to give us a chance. I’m begging you to give me a chance to prove I won’t make the same mistake and do you wrong one night and abandon you the next morning. I can and will stay at your side for as long as you want me to stay there.”
Josie’s eyes went a little glassy, and I couldn’t tell if that was because she’d been staring at me without blinking for so long or because I was saying something that was getting to her. “I know how this sounds, but I know how I feel. You’re right—it’s terrifying and complicated and wonderful and confusing. If it’s so confusing that I feel like my head’s about to explode, I can imagine it feels the same for you. I’m not asking you to trust me with your life or your heart or your love yet. I am asking you for a chance to prove myself worthy of earning those things. If you can give me that, then let’s take it slow and see where this whole thing goes. Inch by inch, day by day . . . let’s see if we can be something as great as I believe we could be.”
Josie let out the breath she’d been holding. When she stepped toward me, she could have been just as likely about to slap me as she was kiss me. Instead, she grabbed my hand and smiled. “You do realize that ‘taking it slow’ means not jumping into bed on a first date, right? Not even the second, third, or fourth.”
I matched her smile and played along. “I don’t know what your definition of ‘taking it slow’ is, but mine is taking our sweet time in bed . . . after dinner on our first date. And the second, and the third, and the fourth.” She squeezed my hand until I winced. “All right, all right. We’ll do this according to your definition of ‘take it slow.’”
Her face went serious again. “I didn’t think you were capable of taking it slow.”
“Neither did I.”
“And you are now?”
I nodded. “I am now.”
“Why?”
That was the big question. “Because you deserve better than my best. You deserve the man I can and should be. Not the one everyone else knows.”
“And while we’re taking it slow . . . Where are you going? I’m not some girl you just met—I know you. Loyalty and sticking around isn’t what you do when it comes to women.”
Josie wasn’t saying anything I’d never heard before, but because it was her, the words cut through my tough skin. “I’m not going anywhere.” I lifted my hand to the bend of her waist. I curled my fingers into her and held on, hoping she’d never want me to let her go.
Her eyes closed, and her forehead lined. “Whose or how many beds will you make stopovers in while we’re going slow and figuring this out?”
I winced. All the collective pleasure and satisfaction I’d gained from being with dozens of women was not worth the flash of pain I witnessed on Josie’s face right then.
“No one’s. None,” I answered, lifting our entwined hands back to her cheek. I waited until she opened her eyes. “There’s nowhere else I want to be. I’m not going anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
When her fingers gave mine another squeeze, a gentle one, I had my answer. Biting her lower lip, she nodded once. “Slow and steady. Let’s see if we can be great together.” Then she smiled. Well it was more of a smile-smirk. “Because we’ve already been not-so-great together, right?”
I chuckled softly. “Whatever. You and I must have different definitions of ‘great,’ too.” I was pretty sure I was going to kiss her. I was also pretty sure it wasn’t going to be a short kiss. Then a familiar, and quickly becoming an annoying, clacking grew louder. It was like the woman had built-in radar to know whenever I was about to kiss her daughter.
Mrs. Gibson showed up in the kitchen a moment after Josie and I separated and stood at a distance far enough from one another not to rouse suspicion. A lot about Josie and I would be confusing, but one thing I was not in the slightest confused about? Keeping her parents in the dark for as long as possible. I didn’t want to dodge shotgun spray every time I tried to take her to the movies or wrap my arm around her.
“I didn’t realize you were making a pie. I thought that’s what you spent all afternoon doing.” The closer Mrs. Gibson got to the pie, the more her eyes widened. “What in the world happened to that pie? And the ice cream? I don’t think there’s much ice left . . . just cream.” She looked inside the carton. It had turned into a sloppy mess while Josie and I worked out what we just had.
Had she really just agreed to give me a chance? The moment was finally catching up to me, and it was causing me to feel a little lightheaded.
“Other than ruining pie and ice cream, what have you two been up to in here?”