Page 32 of The Carver

She put down her fork. “God, I gotta stop eating.”

“A lot better than McDonald’s, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes.

“What did I tell you about rolling your eyes?” My tone was still playful, but it didn’t take much to turn it around.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

“You can ask me anything, sweetheart.”

“Be careful what you wish for…”

I was a closed book to most people I knew. Even with Luca, I didn’t share every detail of my life. Some things were kept close to my chest underneath a bulletproof vest. But I was invested inthis relationship, and I wanted to prove how trustworthy I was. That meant I would tell her anything about me—good or bad. “I have nothing to hide from you.”

She stared at me for several seconds, like she didn’t know how to react to a man so honest. “A while ago, you said something about…” Her eyes flicked away like she was embarrassed to get the words out. “That the sex was better than coke, stuff like that.”

“It is better than coke.”

Her eyes came back to mine. “And you say that based on personal experience…?”

I hadn’t expected her to ask me this, and I couldn’t read her expression or her tone on the matter. But even if I could, I wouldn’t lie to give her the answer she wanted. No matter how much I wanted her, I didn’t want a woman who couldn’t accept me, the man I was at every stage of my life. “Yes.”

She gave no reaction to that, like she needed more time to absorb my answer.

“Heroin. Acid. Everything in between, I’ve done it all.”

She took a breath and then gave a slow nod. “You don’t strike me as someone who does drugs.”

“I don’t do drugs. I’ve been clean for thirteen years.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Booze, cigars, and pussy are my vices now. But yours is something else.” I remained confident in the conversation, accepting whatever the outcome would be. When she left me, I’d given her another chance, but I wouldn’t be giving another one.

“That must have been hard for you.”

“I have an addictive personality, but I also have the discipline of a motherfucker, so…”

“How long were you on drugs?—”

“Is this a problem for you?”

She stilled at the question.

“Because if it is, I’m not going to get deeper into it.” It was a dark time in my life. I wasn’t in the mood to skip down memory lane unless she would be with me at the end of it.

“Of course I don’t have a problem with it.” Her voice was slightly emotional as she spoke, like the question actually hurt her. “Thirteen years is a long time. You should be proud.”

I continued to study her, to make sure she wasn’t feeding me bullshit on a spoon. “I got into it when I was eighteen. Started off small, and before I knew it, I wasn’t myself unless I was on a bunch of shit. It was part of my world, so I didn’t think much of it. But then I made some mistakes, did a lot of stupid shit, and I realized I couldn’t be a man if I was going to act like a boy. The epiphany was enough to make me stop. Truth be told, you can’t run drugs if they’re running you. You can’t be a dealer if you’re a buyer. You can’t be a boss if you’re at the mercy of anyone—or anything.”

She held my gaze like she was enraptured in it.

“But that experience has been essential to my profession now. I know how my dealers think. I know how my buyers think. I can tell the difference between real shit and fake shit just by smelling it. You can’t fool me—and everyone knows it.”

She gave a slight nod. “I can see that.”

I wanted to reach for a cigar at that moment because I’d suddenly become tense, but it was rude to light up when she was eating her dinner.

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