Page 53 of When I Had You

“Like a murder?”

I laugh. “Yes, like an annihilation of your mouth.”

Her lips split into a striking smile, stealing that last shred of my willpower. She says, “Why does that sound so abhorrently sexy?”

Chuckling harder, I caress her cheek. “How is everything that comes out of your mouth a curveball?”

“That’s a nice way of telling me I say crazy things. Hey, can I ask you something?”

Something is so insanely attractive about a woman who knows who she is through and through, her confidence shining through her good-girl exterior. I bet she’s great in bed—a little wild, a little proper, and unpredictable.

“If I can ask you something in return.” We start walking again, the pace slow as if we have forever ahead of us.

“Deal. Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?”

“Um. Not sure how we jumped from me being sexy to being a father . . . ” The question comes from left field, but I don’t skip a beat to answer it. “I didn’t hide that information. He’s a part of my identity. I’m Cullen’s dad. I thought you knew. Guess not. Surprise, I’m a father to a five-year-old.”

“First of all, I called the annihilation of my mouth sexy, though, now with more time to imagine that scenario, it’s not so much.” She tucks her hair behind her ear again, and says, “I want you to tell me the important stuff. I don’t want to learn about it online.” Shaking her head, she looks up at me. “Every part of my ex’s life is online. I’m starting to think I was just bait for the paparazzi for his next storyline. I don’t want to share the important stuff of my life with the world. Talk to me, okay?”

Those words alone make us a match made in heaven. “I agree.”

With a hop to her step, she turns to face me. “Your turn. What did you want to ask me?”

I love seeing her carefree side. I have a feeling it’s not a side she gets to share often. “Why were you buying candy?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t remember the last time I bought candy, other than for Cullen, but there you are, buying and eating it like it’s an everyday occurrence.”

“It’s not for you?” The bewilderment heard in her tone has me questioning why I don’t. Other than the small fact that I must maintain a certain weight range in racing.

“Come on. We have some blocks to cover if we want to eat before it gets too crowded.”

Seventeen blocks, to be precise . . . “Pizza?” She balks. “You dragged me a billion blocks for New York-style pizza in New York City? We could have gotten this ten times over on the way here.”

“You don’t like pizza?”

She scans the menu. “I love pizza. Just surprised since it’s sooo . . .”

“Basic?”

Her sideways grin has me smiling as well. “Normal,” she replies.

“What kind of impression do you have of me if you don’t think I like normal foods?”

“I don’t know. You might be a steak-and-potatoes-every-night kind of guy or as much as you can eat sushi or even a secret lover of fried chicken, but you don’t want to admit it.”

Rubbing my stomach, I reply, “I love fried chicken. Fried chicken does not love me.”

“How often do you deviate into the good foods? And by good, I mean the bad and delicious foods?” Tapping #18 on the menu, she adds, “This one.”

“Not often. I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

Bumping into my arm, she says, “Are we doing the age thing again?”

“No.”

“Wise choice.” She steps up to the counter and orders a large pie to go. She’s not shy when it comes to food, and I can get behind that. I pay the total, and we step to the side to wait. Groups gather in a line to score a table inside, and I’m noticing eyes on us.

---