Page 90 of The Last Good Man

Any age difference.

I’m used to older men. That’s all I know.

“I don’t know.”

He studies my expression and brings his hand to my face before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and stroking my cheek with tenderness and candor.

“Would it bother you if you knewthere wasa big age differencebetween us?”

“How big?”

“Answer me.”

Our eyes stay locked.

“You know a thing or two about me. So tell me…”heinsists.

“It depends.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m serious.”

His smile dies out.

“It depends on what?” he asks.

I feel a heaviness in my chest as if I’m asked to give up on something without knowing everything I need to know.

I shrug.

“I don’t know. It depends on if we’re seeing each other again or not. If…”

I stop.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“If we become a couple?” he asks.

“Yes. That. Maybe… I don’t know.”

“For someone who knows a lot, you surely know nothingwhen it comes tothis.”

“I don’t want to say something stupid.”

“Just say it.”

“I think I’ve already said it.”

“That we are different? And I caught you at a bad time?”

I nod.

And nod again.

“We’ve discussed that…” he says, brushing his thumb over my cheek. I told you I know I’m not for you—not now, at least. That doesn’t mean I won’t be. I wouldn’t have said what I said to you if I hadn’t thought about that aspect. So…” he says, taking his hand away from my face and crossing his arms on top of his chest again.

“Your age,” I say.

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