Page 38 of Falling

“Did she ever flirt with you?” she asks.

“No. Why?” There’s no way Rose Randolph would ever be inappropriate with a minor. Even as an adult, she barely acknowledges my existence. That doesn’t stop me from teasing Geneva though. “Wait, you mean I could have had mother and daughter? At the same time?”

“Keep it up and I’ll have you pull this vehicle over. You can walk the rest of the way.” Her eyebrow cocks at me again. At least I know she’s not lying to me about her head. Geneva with a headache is less teasing and more stabby. “Does he rely on you when he needs help?”

“All the time.”

“He never needs help,” she exclaims at the same time.

“What do you mean? I need help sometimes,” I insist.

“Name once.”

“You rubbed the aches out after Yosemite.”

“Yes I did,” she says. “Damn, that ass.”

“What about when you flew all the way to Virginia for my grandmother’s funeral? My ass wasn’t involved that time.”

“In my world, your ass is always involved,” she quips. “But I knew how close you were to your grandmother. I couldn’t imagine not being there.”

“It meant a lot.” She smiles. That weekend was the first time I realized there was more to her than she let the world see. She missed two days of college classes just so I’d know she cared.

“Does he do what he can to make your life easier?” She rolls her eyes. “Ummm, how about convincing me to go into business together, helping pack my apartment, carrying me down a mountain on his back, and sitting on the back of a horse for hours so I don’t have to be uncomfortable?”

I don’t know how to respond. Of course, I do what I can to make her life easier. I’ve even gone so far as buying tampons to drop off on the way by. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?

Certainly not the one David and Tricia Winsloe raised. My dad taught me everything I needed to know about how to treat a woman. At least the ones I didn’t use as a one-night stand. He doted on my mom at every turn. Tim and I learned through example.

“Can he stay calm in a crisis? Seriously? He pulled me from a raging river before I drowned. How much more of a crisis do we need?”

“It was instinct.”

“Fucking good instincts, I say,” she points out. “Has he cooked you dinner? About every night.”

“I like to cook.” I’m not sure why I’m defending myself. I like cooking for Geneva. She’s the only person I ever cook for. Not even Rand gets my french toast.

“Well, I love your cooking. So, win-win. Can he handle conflict?” She studies me closely. “I think he handles conflict like a hostage negotiator. As a matter of fact, he should probably yell more before he develops an ulcer.”

“Do you want me to start yelling at you?”

“Only if it includes apology sex after,” she says.

“Who’s apologizing?”

“You, of course. I never do anything that needs apologizing for.”

“Mmmm.” I can think of a time or two that an apology would have been nice. She once knocked me down the fucking stairs at work with a hip bump. I guess she made sure I was still living before stalking off.

She also announced at the dinner table when we were kids that I was obviously inbred since I hailed from the hills of Virginia. My mom is a schoolteacher. My dad is a hospital administrator. We’re not inbred. I don’t even know anyone who is.

“Last question. Are you compatible in bed? Well, that’s a shame. We almost had our answer.” She cuts her eyes at me. “I guess now we’ll never know.”

“Are you trying to bait me?” There’s no question we’ll be compatible in bed. “What do you want me to do to you in bed?” That came out wrong, but I am curious.

“Let’s see. The choking thing you did last night was nice,” she says. “Biting and spanking are still on the table. Some bondage should do the trick. How are your knot-tying skills, Boy Scout?”

“You’re just trying to get a rise out of me.” She takes a slow perusal down my body until her gaze reaches my lap.

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