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“Pigs are affectionate, intelligent creatures.”
“Yes, but no one ever calls someone a pig and means it as an insult.”
“They don’t call them dogs to be nice either.”
“Fair point. However, I much prefer a dog over a pig. More fur, famously loyal, and easy on the eyes.”
“You’re not that furry.”
Shane laughed, setting his glass beside the sink and putting the bottle away. “Perhaps not.”
I watched him walk out and realized he’d never answered my question. I didn’t know what was more annoying, the fact that I knew he was trying to get me to follow him or that it was working. I huffed, pushing out of my seat to follow him into the sitting room. It was rarely used by anyone in the house, and I stood in the doorway as he slid into one of the seats next to the equally unused fireplace.
“Are you loyal?” I asked.
He looked up, squinting. “Are you asking if I’m loyal overall, or is this your way of asking if I’ve ever been unfaithful with a lover?”
“As far as I know, you’ve only had hookups.”
“No, I’ve dated seriously a couple of times in the past.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t find it to my liking.”
His tone was less flippant than I was used to, and I found myself stepping into the room. “Why’s that?”
I didn’t know where he’d found another drink, but a glance at a nearby cabinet showed there were even more bottles and glasses inside. I seriously did not know why a house had to have so many different places where liquor could be stored.
“Too many demands, expectations, and rules,” he said, swirling his barely filled glass as he stared out the nearby window. “Unsurprisingly, it reminded me far too much of my childhood. If I wanted to revisit that, I would look over the old family albums. Which tragically, are sealed away in storage and would be far too much hassle to retrieve.”
“I hear therapy is always an option when dealing with family trouble,” I said, leaning on the back of the chair opposite him.
He raised a brow, snorting softly. “And have them tell me my life is the product of my childhood? That perhaps I use my bon vivant lifestyle to make up for the lack of joy I had growing up? Or that by my little rebellions, I’m using it as a means to take back the control I felt I never had while developing? Considering I’m already well aware, I think that would be rather redundant, don’t you?”
“Okay, points for self-awareness,” I said, a little unnerved by how…grim he was. “But believe it or not, they’re also pretty good at helping you work through those issues. It’s not like you don’t have the money to find the best of the best.”
“What? And have them tell me I should drink less, party less, and take things a little more seriously? Again, we go back to the fact that I should talk to my family more often,” he said, still swirling the contents of his glass.
“So, uh, where were you this whole time if you weren’t talking to your mother?” I asked, wondering if I would get an answer this time.
“Walking.”
“Walking?”
“Yes. You put one foot in front of the other, and you do that repeatedly. It becomes an automatic thing after a while if you get the hang of it.”
“I’m reminded of when your mother told me she believed I’d been spending too much time around you because I apparently thought I was clever. Now I understand why she said it.”
A slow smile curved his lips, and he took a sip of his drink. “When I need to think, I go for a walk. When I want to relax, I go to my little home. When I don’t want to do either of those things…I go out. I’m a man of simple tastes.”
“Simple tastes,” I said with a snort. “I’m sure whatever you’re drinking probably costs ten times whatever I’ve paid for a bottle of liquor.”
“I said simple, not cheap.”
“You, uh, gonna tell me what you and your mother spoke about?”
A beat, and then he drank the rest of his glass. “My place.”
