Page 78 of The Proposal
True. “But I got the impression you were just being polite.”
“Okay, I probably was just being polite. But I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?” He shifts his weight around me. “I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t been against it. I’ve just never found myself in a situation where I thought—what if? You know?”
“And I’ve spent my whole life wondering about it. I watched my mother struggle with being a single mom and the loneliness that came with the title. I remember lying in bed as a child, hearing her up in the middle of the night sweeping the floors or making lunches for the next day because two in the morning was the only time she had to do it.”
Renn rests his chin on the top of my head. “That had to be hard.”
“It was hard for her, I’m sure. And the older I get, the more I fear being in that same boat. Lonely. I will be a single mother because I never found a guy who I thought was worth building a life with, and I wouldn’t settle for less.”
His hands run up and down my arms.
I smile softly—not sadly, but not happily, either. I’m in an uncertain space between both emotions. I’m incredibly happy and content at this moment, but I know this bubble of ease is so very temporary.
I sigh.
What is one to do in this situation? Do you lean into the happy and enjoy all life has to offer? Or do you protect yourself from the heartbreak that’s inevitably right around the corner?
We’re treading carefully between flings and feelings. “I’ve just never found myself in a situation where I thought—what if?”But I know forever is out of the question.
I blow out a breath and study the ink etched into his skin. Each piece is deliberate—an intentional piece of artwork. They’re a story that I’d love to know more about.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” I say, tracing a line up his arm.
He pulls his left arm away from me and stretches it before us. Water drips off his fingers and into the tub.
“I got most of them when I was younger,” he says. “Let’s see … Okay, this one.” He points at a patch of skin in the middle of his forearm. “The seven is for my position on the pitch. I’m the openside flanker.”
“That’s a forward, right?”
“Yeah. Very good.”
“I’ve learned a little over the years.”
He chuckles. “The pineapple was a bet that went terribly wrong one New Year’s Eve. The B is for Brewer. All my brothers have it somewhere on their body.” He twists his wrist. “This is the outline of Australia, obviously, with a ball inside it. This one saysmom—self-explanatory.”
My heart warms at the sight of the small ode to his mother just below the crook of his arm.
“What about you?” he asks, returning his arm around me. “I didn’t see any tattoos on your hot little body.”
“That’s because I don’t have any. I’ve always wanted one. I’ve even looked at designs to see what I would get, but I haven’t gone through with it.”
“Why?”
“I’m scared I won’t want it forever, and I’ll be stuck with it.”
“That’s how I feel about Brock,” he says, chuckling. “I befriended him, but now I don’t want him forever, and I’m stuck with him.”
I smile, taking a handful of water and dropping it on my chest. “Have you heard from him since we left Vegas?”
“No. Have you had a chance to call him yet?”
I shake my head. “Something is going on with Brock, I think. Ella said they aren’t talking either. It’s not like him to just shut down like this. I’m starting to get worried.”
He hums. I don’t know what that means, so I leave it.
We sit quietly. The peace is only broken by the occasional ripple of the water. The room is warm, the moonlight adding a touch of ambiance to the low-lit room. It’s lovely and romantic … and I’m sitting here with Renn.
“There’s a difference between flings, feelings, and forever.”
