Page 30 of Maybe You

Only not today.

Figures he’d suddenly take a break from constantly propositioning me now of all times. Now, when I actually want him to do it. Because instead of making hints about getting into my pants, he’s spent the last hour and a half telling me about a book. He read. As a kid.

Not only that. No, he’s describing it to me in painfully specific detail because he doesn’t remember the title or who wrote it, and my braincells are collapsing from exhaustion because no matter which way I spin it, I can’t fucking turn the conversation in the direction I need it to go when the main topic of conversation is a fucking children’s book, for crying out loud.

“I think there was a dog in it.” Sutton drags the mop over the floor as he moves backward. “I want to say a black lab, but it also might’ve been a golden retriever, but now that I really think about it I might be mixing up two wholly different books because the dog doesn’t really fit into it?” He stops for a moment and squints. “Or maybe it was a horse? Do you know a kids’ book with a horse in it?”

I blink and try to get my mind back on track and away from sex. “I figure there are a bunch of horse books for kids.”

“A horse still doesn’t sound right.”

“Okay?”

He leans against the mop handle. “How many kids solve crimes with a pet horse in tow?”

“Very few?”

“On second thought, I’m probably imagining the horse,” he says thoughtfully.

“Uh-huh.”

He finishes mopping the floor and plops the mop into the bucket.

“Did any of it sound familiar to you?”

“No?” I frown. “What’s the sudden preoccupation with children’s books?”

“Just popped into my head the other day when I was hanging out with—” He stops abruptly. There’s a beat of silence, but then he continues. “Anyway, it won’t leave me be. Like when you’re vaguely aware of a melody and can’t remember which song it is.”

I stare at him, and he raises his brows at me in question.

I shake my head, grateful for the distraction. “Just trying to imagine you as a kid.”

“And?”

“I’m thinking you were one of those exasperating little smartasses,” I say. “Really charming but exhausting.”

He laughs out loud. “You’d think, right?”

“You weren’t?”

“Not really.”

“Well, what were you like, then?” For the moment everything else in my head becomes background noise, because for some reason I find myself entirely too invested in the response.

It takes a long time for him to answer, and it’s as if I can see the thoughts racing around in his head.

“I was very quiet,” he finally says. I’m pretty sure I detect some hesitancy in his voice, like he’s not sure he should be revealing that information.

“Really?” I ask, and I can’t really hide the surprise in my voice.

He grins at my tone and nods. “Honest to God. I mostly kept to myself. Really shy. At least, before I met Quinn and his whole family.”

I can’t decide whether he’s telling the truth or pulling my leg.

Finally, I shake my head. “I can’t really picture that.”

“You’re sadly lacking in imagination. That’s disappointing.”

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