Page 91 of Collision
“You should stop reading all those fucking romance novels. You’re getting a completely skewed idea of men and feelings.”
“Never. I’m sure that somewhere out there in the world, there are still men brave enough to fall madly in love with a woman and give themselves to her unreservedly. Fight for her, respect her, protect her from all the evils of the world. Make her laugh out loud. Make her theirs, for every minute of their lives. Just like in those ‘fucking romance novels’ that I love reading so much,” I conclude proudly.
Thomas lowers his head, grinning. “You are completely doomed.”
“So will you let me get to know you?” He stares at the river below us, ignoring my question. “I don’t really know anything about you,” I continue. “But you know a lot about me. I don’t think that’s fair.”
“It’s better for you this way,” he cuts me off.
“That should be my decision, don’t you think?” I draw small circles on the wood of the bridge. “If you really do want to be my friend the way you say, you should confide in me. At least a little bit,” I insist earnestly, after more silence. “Otherwise, this relationship will just be a big joke.”
He scrutinizes me silently, forehead wrinkling in a frown, as if he is mulling over my words. Then he takes a deep breath and, against all odds, gives up. “What do you want to know?”
I straighten up in disbelief. “Really?”
“I’ll give you ten minutes, you little busybody. But don’t get used to it.”
“Okay! Well, let’s see. First of all, I didn’t know you do tattoos.”
“I don’t do them, not professionally, at least. Sometimes I’ll do one if I’m at my friend’s studio, but that’s about it.”
“Did you take a class?”
“No, it was my uncle who taught me. He has a studio in Portland,and I used to stop by his place after school. Or before. Or during,” he says with a wink.
“Did he do your tattoos? When did you start getting them?” I ask impatiently.
“I got my first one when I was fourteen.” He shows me an anchor between his thumb and wrist. “He did almost all my tattoos, but the designs are mine.”
His? Holy shit, he’s a real artist.
“So, in addition to being a basketball god, you also know how to draw? You never cease to amaze, Collins. I told you that there was more to you!” I exclaim with conviction.
“Is the interrogation over?”
I pretend to think about it, tapping my index finger on my chin. “No. Not yet.”
“Don’t your batteries ever run out?” It seems that this curiosity of mine amuses him, because he looks at me with a tender expression, while still remaining his usual grumpy self.
I stick my tongue out at him and continue. “Favorite food?”
“What bullshit…” He shakes his head in resignation.
“I’m waiting…”
“Stew, maybe?”
“Really? I wouldn’t have thought so. I, on the other hand, love oven-baked lasagna. Mom makes it from this finger-licking, real Italian recipe.”
“Am I supposed to care?” He gives me a confused look, and I roll my eyes. I ignore his lack of interest in this conversation, and I barrel on.
“The ocean or the mountains?”
“You’re really making me regret giving you the opportunity to ask questions.”
I smile and try to move the conversation onto more personal topics in the hopes that he will let me. “Why did you come to Corvallis?”
Thomas rubs the back of his neck, staring straight ahead and growing suddenly tense. “I don’t know. I got the scholarship, so we went.”
