Page 60 of Bad Enough

Sylvan shrugged again, looking out across the expanse of her backyard. “It’s been my experience that most men are much more impressed with women whose clothing is not in the double-digit category. Unless it’s their breasts. Then the higher, the better.”

TB took the spoon out of her hand and put it on the table to his left.

“Stand up,” he ordered with a grab-hand motion at her.

Brow furrowed, she stood.

He turned himself in profile to her, one leg up along the seat back of the swing. Before he could overthink about what he was doing, he took hold of her arms and half twisted, half pulled her so that she was sitting on the swing with her back to his chest.

“Feet up on the swing, Flame.” Rigidly, she complied. When her back didn’t quite touch him, he put his inside arm around her middle and tucked her up tight. He reached for the ice cream and one of the spoons, then brought both in front of them. He scooped another mouthful of the chocolate gooeyness onto the spoon, then held it up to her. “Open.”

Timidly, she reached forward with her head to clean the spoon with her lips and tongue. Then he helped himself to another spoonful. “Well, I’m not ‘most men.’”

“No, you’re not,” she whispered.

“I like my women with porcelain skin, emerald-green cat eyes, auburn hair that’s so long I can wrap it several times around my fist, and curves everywhere.”

He heard a soft moan, one he was sure she didn’t even know had escaped her.

I’m so fucked. Oh well.

He realized it was all true. He did like her just as she was. She checked all his boxes. He was not used to being this conflicted. He analyzed. He did what needed to be done. And as long as it didn’t have long-reaching consequences, he did exactly what he wanted.

So then, why the conflict?

Because I need information. If I give in to what I want and what she wants, when I have to force the information out of her, she’s going to think I manipulated her for it.

What if I just laid everything out for her? Told her the straight-up truth about how I feel about her.

The voices in his head paused for a moment.

Are you saying you want a relationship with her? A permanent one?

I don’t know about permanent?—

Good, because you’d suck at that.

I could do it.

No, you really would suck at it. Like worse than suck. So stop thinking about it right fuckin’ now.

Who made you the knower of all things? I’ve been listening to you for so long, I’ve never stopped to consider that I might not suck at it.

His brain briefly flicked back to a conversation with Waters a couple of months ago when TB advised him to go after Kubrick despite the obstacles. He wished he could take his own advice, but he knew that he couldn’t for several reasons, the first being he couldn’t ever give her the stability in a man that she deserved. There was no “desk” version for what he did.

More importantly? He knew that you couldn’t count on people to stay, even when they loved you. Dizengoff Street proved that.

“I have to be honest with you, princess. It’s not in me to be any other way.” He put the ice cream container on the table and wiped his cold hand on his jeans to get rid of the condensation. Laying his cheek against the top of her head, his inner arm hugged her tightly to him again, and his outside hand picked up her hand closest to it. “I meant it earlier. I’m not a nice person. I’ve done some really awful things in my life.”

“Like what?”

He studied her perfect manicure, the white tips against the clear beds. He stroked her soft skin with his thumbs. “Do you understand what I actually do for Tribe?”

“You protect people. You solve problems that other people can’t solve, like rescuing people.”

“That’s part of it, but I mean what my specialty is.”

“What do you do?”

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