Page 102 of The Last Good Man

He just said it.

There is a price to pay no matter what.

“So what kind of price are you willing to pay if this isn’t an option?” I ask, resting my hands on my lap and moving my eyes to him.

His stare comes to me.

“What kind of price…” he murmurs absently, his eyes lingering on my hands before sliding up and stalling on my face. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, forgetting about our conversation.

My cheeks burn.

“The price…” I remind him, not acknowledging his compliment.

“Yes. The price.”

He sucks in a short breath.

“I’d rather be uncertain about things, take risks, and even experience pain. When you hurt, you’re still alive. I wouldn’t want to be dead inside.”

“I am positively not dead inside.”

“No. But you’re in an existential crisis.”

“What makes you say that?”

Am I in an existential crisis?

Hey, at least it’s not a mid-life crisis. But how far off am I, really?

I’m already considering a younger partner.

No.

I wasn’t looking for someone like him.

“You’re a bit lost,” he says.

I don’t like where he’s going with this.

I’m not used to being perceived as lost, weak, or vulnerable, although he’s seen enough of me to make it difficult for me to deny that.

“I’m not lost,” I say.

A slow smile tilts his lips.

“You looked very much lost when you shook around my fingers.”

A surge of pleasure barrels through me.

“I haven’t done that a lot.”

I haven’t done a lot of things a lot.

Our conversation stalls for a few more seconds before he folds an arm over his eyes as if he wants to sleep.

I ponder what he said.

“Maybe you’re right.”

---