Page 46 of Dirty Fighter

The suggestion that she’d heard about me.

That mothers talk.

That there was some reputation I’d earned… about girls. Violence. Hell, sometimes as vague as her having heard about “that night.”

Individually, they were nothing. A stepparent trying to tease or connect but being out of touch enough that the details were wrong.

Cumulatively though? It had begun to feel like a campaign to undermine me. Subtly. Over time. In a way that would have been hard as hell to defend against without looking like some petty baby-man who was jealous that he didn’t have his dad’s full attention anymore. Especially because I wanted my dad to be happy with Marsha.

He’d been alone for sixteen years.

No girlfriends. No relationships. Just me and him. And the ghost woman he’d loved who’d slipped away less than a year from the day he’d met her.

“You’re saying you don’t do casual hookups?”

I want to tell her no. But it wouldn’t be true.

I have. They just aren’t what I really want. And what I want… “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is.” This time, something about her smile bothers me. A lot.

“Rowan,” I start, wanting— or fuck, maybe needing her to understand.

But she’s already holding up her hand, her eyes shifting down to her tiles. “You don’t need to justify it. So long as everyone is on the same page and responsible, what’s the harm with some casual fun?”

When I don’t say anything, she goes on. “You’re an attractive guy, in a career known to draw the attention of plentiful willing partners who aren’t asking for more than a night.”

“Or a couple of hours. Maybe less.” Why am I telling her this?

What kind of reaction am I pushing for?

She blinks, slowly. But she doesn’t meet my eyes.

“I’m not saying that kind of company isn’t available. You’re right, something about this job… I don’t know why. But yeah, there are probably more opportunities than the average… banker gets? And a lot of players get caught up in it, at least for a while. I mean, it’s easy. Convenient company when there isn’t always a lot of bandwidth left at the end of the night because of a career with hours and travel and more commitments than aspiring players are usually prepared for. But it’s not for everyone. There are plenty of Wife Guys and Relationship Guys on the team.”

Though in all honesty, not all of them started out that way.

“But you? Still not much of a relationship guy, huh?”

There are a lot of different answers I give when this kind of question comes up. Last week, when ancient Mrs. Geirgrich from the seventh floor asked on the elevator, I told her I was waiting for her. Last month, when Sammy from parking asked, I gave him the bullshit line he loves about not being able to choose from all the beautiful women out there.

But here, now, sitting in the one place in the world where what I do for a living has never come into play, and I’m just a guy with a loving family who isn’t around anymore… I give Rowan the truth.

“For the right girl, I’d be a relationship guy in a minute.” Then, “Wait, what do you mean ‘still’?”

Eye contact, startling and addictive… and then gone in a blink. “Oh, umm, nothing. Just, you know. Everyone called you Heartbreaker in high school.”

Weird. “I’m not a heartbreaker kind of guy.”

“No? I guess maybe it was because you didn’t date much. In the traditional sense.”

The way she says it, so offhandedly, like it’s a matter of fact, doesn’t sit right. “I had girlfriends.” A couple. Before I met Rowan. “I wasn’t popping the question or shopping for promise rings for them, but that’s not out of the norm for high school. But even back then, I didn’t have a lot of time for some of the stuff other kids did.”

“Yeah, but… I mean, there were plenty of girls even when there weren’t girlfriends.”

Umm. “Not really.”

She blinks, a little furrow marring her brow as she seems to process my answer.