Page 37 of Fateful Exposure

I placed a kiss on her palm, shrugging. "I learned to live with it. Can't miss what you've never had, right?"

"Bullshit. That's when to miss it the most."

I huffed out a smile. "I've made peace with it. It doesn't bother me. Really."

I could tell she didn't believe me. "Did you ever try to look for them?"

"What's the point? They didn't want me in the first place."

"Don't say that. What if it was due to circumstances beyond their control?"

"Fuck that," I growled, feeling the anger eating away at the ragged edges of my control. "You don't give up your child, no matter what."

I certainly would not be giving up mine. But I didn't say that—not out loud, at least—lest she run back into her shell.

Selma sighed defeatedly, cupping my cheek. "I understand. Still, I'm sorry you had to grow up alone. That's a sad fate for a child."

I leaned into her touch. "I didn't grow up alone. I had Milo. We've had each other since we were nine."

"Right. The best friend. He must have a shitload of patience to have been able to put up with you that long."

I rolled my eyes. "I put up with the fucker too, so I guess we're even."

She smiled, and I leaned forward to kiss her softly.God.Selma was intoxicating, and I didn't think I'd ever get over how good she tasted.

"So, no girlfriends, huh?" she commented wryly, her hand dropping. "What's up with that? Is it a thing, or do you just play hard to get? Because I find it extremely odd that women aren't flocking to you."

I gave her my best grin. "I never said they weren't, just that I never dated any of them."

"Why not?"

I shrugged again, blanketing one of her breasts under my palm and giving it a gentle squeeze—I didn't want to hurt her like the last time. "I guess I'm not the dating type."

She sighed in a singsong voice, prompting a chortle out of me. "What?"

"My ex-boyfriend was an ass,” she reminded me, “so yeah, I wish I wasn't the dating type. At least you can't say your girlfriend left you for your cousin."

I allowed my laugh to rumble in the space between us. "First off, I don't have a cousin. Secondly, I have seen your cousin, and she doesn't hold a candle to you. How the fuck did that happen?"

Her face twisted into a mixture of awe and annoyance. "I have no idea!"

I threw my head back and laughed, mostly because her annoyance came from a place of genuine shock—like she couldn't believe something so preposterous had happened to her.

"I don't mean to brag, but I'm older, smarter, refined, and successful,” she said. “Well, at least I was."

"I agree with all of those observations. Here's a thought: What if he was intimidated? Successful women are known for their annoying independence and strong will."

Selma stared at me like I'd suddenly sprouted blue and purple horns from my forehead. "You're saying I was too successful?Thatscared him away?"

I shrugged. "I'm saying it's a possibility." I reached out a hand to massage away the crease that had formed between her eyebrows. "He was a fucking pussy if that was the case. He who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose."

She smiled heartily. "Anne Bronte."

I paused, shooting her a surprised look. "You know poetry?

"Here and there." Her lips parted in a grin, and her teeth sparkled in the dim light. "Fashion isn't the only thing I fell in love with as a child."

"Who's your favorite poet?"

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