Page 25 of Falling

“Last question. Does he make you feel sexy?” My mind reels back to all of the times I’ve caught Peter looking at me. The way he growled in the dressing room when I flashed my bare ass at him. How his eyes devoured me in the spa room when I dropped the robe. How I wanted more every time. I guess I’ve been silent too long.

“If it helps,” he says, “you are the sexiest woman I know. Your brother would kill me for saying that, but it’s the truth. You light up every room you walk into. Every man in the high roller’s room wanted you. If they knew you the way I do, I wouldn’t have been able to beat them off.”

“How do you know me?” I whisper.

“I know what’s inside. That you’re brilliant. You’re braver than you should have to be. You are fucking fierce. That you might bust balls, but you can’t see a stray animal without taking care of it. I know you volunteer at the children’s shelter because you don’t want even one more child to feel alone like you did growing up.”

“Stop, Peter,” I beg. I swipe at a tear threatening to roll down my cheek.

“I know you’re beautiful inside and out,” he finishes. “I don’t need some quiz to tell me that.”

I think this is the moment I give up trying to not fall in love with Peter Winsloe. It’s hopeless when he sees me the way he does. I don’t deserve someone like him. He’s light where I’m trapped in darkness.

I want so desperately to be who he thinks I am. I might help animals and children, but I also took up a martial art that leaves me bloody for a reason. I watched my brother take my beatings for so long that it did something to me. I’m not whole inside.

I toss the magazine in the back seat and stare out the window. It’s impossible for me to ever live up to what Peter sees. I steel myself against the heartache of knowing that.

I’ll show him I’m not worth his time. He’ll learn I’m nothing more than something to do in passing. I’ll never be the small-town, picket fence kind of woman. I’m good for a quick fuck, then move along. I take a deep breath. The sooner Peter learns that, the better we’ll both be.

“I’m not sorry I said it,” he begins.

“Are we stopping to eat anytime in the near future?” I snap back.

“Yeah. We’re coming into a small town. Hopefully, they have something worth eating.” His voice sounds resigned. Good.

The diner we pull into is even smaller than the last one. It has tired-looking curtains hanging on the windows. The seats are in need of repair. We’re led to a booth in the corner. A paper sign says the special is spicy pork tamales. Whatever. We both order the special and sodas. Peter watches me closely as I stare out into the diner.

“How did I piss you off this time?” he asks. “Does the truth make you angry? Do you want me to see you how your father does? As a waste of DNA? Something to be cast aside, not even worth striking? Because I’ll never see you as less than special.”

“Peter,” I say with a sigh. “You don’t know me. Not really.”

“I know exactly who you are.”

I’m saved from continuing this pointless conversation by the waitress delivering our meal. There’s no use trying to change his mind. He’ll learn on his own soon enough. When we get to Austin and he figures out I’m not good at anything but putting together ads. I can’t help run a business.

“This isn’t half bad,” he continues. He’s giving me a reprieve for now. I’m sure we’ll revisit this later. “It’s not much to look at, but it’s edible.”

I take a bite. He’s right; it’s much better than it looks. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I clean my plate. The frittata had worn off long ago. My soda came from a machine also. This is fresh and still has a bite to it. When we get back to the car, I’m leaving a hell of a review.

Peter smiles at me. It’s a truce offering. I meet it with a smile of my own. We never could stay irritated with each other.

We pass the rest of the drive listening to music in companionable silence. I can’t believe the small cabin we finally pull up in front of. It’s even more quaint than the one in Yosemite. Peter fishes our bags out of the back. I meet him on the front porch, and he punches in a code for the door.

“Is that a goat?” I ask before we can step inside.

“Appears to be. There’s also a couple of donkeys over there.”

“How rustic are these cabins?” I’m actually itching to go pet a donkey. I don’t want to admit it to him though. I’ll never hear the end of it.

“There’s a soaker tub. You’re good.” He steps inside the cabin. It’s not bad. Old but comfortable. “Want to go pet the donkeys before we settle in for the evening? I’m making dinner tonight.”

“How do you always read my mind?” I ask. I grab his hand and pull him back outside toward the donkey enclosure. Fuck it. He can tease all he wants. I love tiny donkeys.

“I told you, I know what’s in your heart better than you do.”

He might, and it scares me. Can he see how black it is? I sigh. It doesn’t matter right now. I have donkeys to pet. Maybe goats too.

ten

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