Page 43 of Red My Lips

“Four minutes,” I announce. “You lasted four whole minutes without talking about sex.”

“Let’s try again. I have really good stamina, let me show you exactly how long I can really go.”

“Hmm, fifteen seconds. You finished before we even got started. I have to say, I’m very disappointed.”

“Third time’s the charm.” His gaze on me turns more serious. “Tell me about your family.”

“You want to have this conversation right now?” I look down pointedly at how we’re sitting. Gage simply tilts his head as he waits. “Let’s go back to talking about sex.”

“No,” he replies deeply. He’s clearly not going to drop this.

“There’s nothing to tell.” I shrug. “Now that Tommy’s gone, I don’t have one.”

“Your parents?”

“They’re both dead.” His insistent gaze doesn’t falter, so I relent. “My dad was a drunk. Some might have called him a functioning alcoholic. I don’t remember a time I was with my dad when he didn’t have a drink in his hand or alcohol on his breath. When he mixed his liquor, he got mean.”

“And your mom?”

“She was a broken woman and his biggest enabler. She never spoke up unless it was to make excuses for him. She cooked, cleaned, and taught me that women are meant to be seen, not heard. I don’t take after her, clearly.”

“How did they die?”

“A car accident.” Bitterness twists in my gut. I hate telling this story. Sensing my discomfort, Gage’s arms tighten around me to pull me in closer as I continue. “My mom went to go track my dad down at the bar and take him home. They got into a huge fight, and my dad took the keys from her. He was plastered and pissed. When he got like that, he liked to drive really fast just to scare us. When he lost control, he hit another car head-on. All three of them were pronounced dead on the scene: my mom, my dad, and the other driver.”

Wendy Corwin, the other driver, was a forty-six-year-old single mother of a pre-teen daughter. My dad created three orphans that night.

“How old were you?”

“You already know all of this,” I point out. “I know you know it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I was nineteen. My parents didn’t have much, but I inherited a few thousand dollars that I put towards community college and bartending classes.”

“What about Tommy?”

“What do you think?” I scoff. “Tommy’s share of the inheritance was down a slot machine within hours of the check being cashed. He was about to finish trade school to become a welder, just like my dad.” Dad had insisted it was the only appropriate profession for a real man. And with how much of a screw-up Tommy was, following in Dad’s footsteps was the only option to prove himself. If there’s anything my brother cared about more than a bet, it was my dad’s approval.

My brother and I weren’t super close before the accident. But losing both our parents in one night forced us together. Only having each other to lean on forged a new bond—one where I was the rock, and Tommy was the sand that shifted around it. We were dysfunctional, but we had each other. Until we didn’t.

Now it’s just me.

Sensing my darkening thoughts, Gage’s eyes read me like a book. “And then your brother disappeared.” I nod.

“And somehow, I got strung up in his noose.” I look at him pointedly, but there’s not an ounce of apology in his expression. Only intense interest and deep-seated possession.

I hate how much I like it.

“I prefer my diamonds around your neck. Or my hands.” And now we’re back to talking about sex. The subject change is a relief, which I suspect was his intent. The rattle of fresh ice being poured into the cooler behind the bar sounds in the background, announcing the arrival of a barback. It’s time to get ready for my shift.

“Are you just going to sit here and hold me on your lap all night?

“If I want to.”

“I have things to do.”

“I better be at the top of that list.”

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