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Lucas didn’t answer. Talk about a tough nut to crack.
Where the hell was I supposed to go with that? It was like the new Lucas had a perpetual chip on his shoulder, but I had no idea why or what to do with it.
So, I’d start at the beginning. Taking a sip of wine, I dove in. “My father didn’t let up. That night, we got into a huge argument. He threatened. . .” I hated to make it all about my father, as if it was completely his fault. Except, it really was completely his fault. “He threatened not to pay for college,” I blurted.
Lucas’s hand froze halfway to his lips, his beer bottle dangling in midair.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”
“And you didn’t tell me that because?”
With a warped sense of loyalty toward my father, even now I tried to defend him. “I don’t know. He honestly thought it was best, that a serious relationship at that age—”
“It had nothing to do with our relationship,” Lucas said, finally taking a swig of his beer. “He thought you were too good for me. Daddy’s princess dating the guy from across the river whose father is the town drunk? I guarantee it had nothing to do with your age, Charlee.”
“You’re wrong.”
He laughed in my face. At which point I glared at him, thinking he would reverse course. Instead, Lucas seemed unrepentant.
“Seriously? What’s with you, Lucas? Where’s the nice guy I knew in high school?”
“Knew?” His eyes narrowed. “You mean dated. Kissed. The one who felt you up behind Buona’s Pizza after a football game. Who got you off with my, what did you call them, magical fingers? I think we were well beyond ‘knowing’ each other, Charlee.”
A vision of Lucas with his hands up my sundress on the Ferris wheel at the Summer Kickoff Fair flashed through my mind.
“Ahh, I see you remember at least one of those times.”
“You’re not playing fair, Lucas.”
“No? What exactly does playing fair look like?”
“Like you keeping the conversation clean so we can get to the bottom of things.”
“Clean, huh? So, you don’t actually want to know what I’m thinking right now?”
That felt like a trick question.
“I’m pretty sure I know what you’re thinking. Which is why I’d like to focus on the breakup. And the fact that you never gave me a chance to explain. And then, within a week, you were gone. No contact again for ten friggin’ years.”
“Go ahead and guess.”
“Guess what?”
“What I’m thinking. If you get it right, I’ll rehash anything you want.”
I took a sip of wine. And a stab at his thoughts. “You were thinking something dirty.”
“You’re gonna need to be more specific there, bright eyes.”
I couldn’t even imagine. Nor was I inclined to verbalize the thoughts that were floating across my brain. “I don’t know. I give up.”
“So easily?” Lucas wheeled himself toward me so he was directly in front of the couch where I sat, the tattoo he’d just given me feeling almost like a brand. “I was thinking about ripping your pants down and fingering you,” he said, his voice low and deeper than before. “Keeping my grip on you while your knees buckle. Imagining you looking at me but unable to speak because my hand will be covering your mouth to keep you quiet.”
His voice would haunt my dreams like the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future sent to torture me for breaking up with him. If I’d ever heard anything sexier in my life, I wasn’t aware of it at the moment.
I swallowed. And wondered if the clenching between my legs was really what I thought it was.
