Page 47 of Glitter Rose
“Next question.” I flip a page before I do something stupid. “What’s your biggest regret… from before?”
Her playfulness vanishes. “I never learned to drive. Sounds stupid now, but I was always chauffeured everywhere. Thought I had all the time in the world to figureit out.”
“I could teach you.”
“How?” Her eyes light up.
“We’ll find something. Hot-wire a car.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “And you don’t even have to be scared of scratching it.”
“What’s your biggest regret?”
I stare at the popcorn in my hand, suddenly not hungry. “My mom.” The kernels dig into my palm as I squeeze them too tight. “She got sick when I was young. Cancer. The kind that eats through your savings before it eats through your body. The reason I took that dishwasher job. It was before… I went to the Marines.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“I had money for tattoos and a used motorcycle.” My laugh comes out hollow. “But not enough to save my mother’s life.”
She reaches for my hand, her fingers sliding between mine. “What was she like?”
People usually skip to platitudes after the cancer part.
“Tough. Smart. Made the world’s worst lasagna but wouldn’t admit it.” Something warm unfurls in my chest at the memory. “Had this laugh that made strangers turn around in restaurants. Dad and I used to time how long it took her to make friends in waiting rooms.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She would’ve liked you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She had a thing for people who didn’t take my shit.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “Glitter probably would’ve sealed the deal.”
Paris’s smile feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Mine would’ve hated you.”
“That so?”
“Bad boys weren’t her style.” She squeezes my hand. “Forwhat it’s worth, I think your mom would be proud of who you became.”
I want to believe her. Want to think my mom would see something worth saving in the man I am now.
“Next question.” She reaches for the book, but I hold it away. “Hey!”
“I’ll ask the questions.” I could watch her pout all day. “What’s one thing you never thought you’d do, but did anyway?”
“Besides taking a broken stranger up twelve flights of stairs?” She snags a handful of popcorn. “Or letting him feel me up last night?”
“Besides those.” Only thinking about having her moan beneath me is dangerous in this setting.
She contemplates, head tilted. “I ate dog food once.”
“You?”
“It was gourmet stuff from 5C. Their Yorkie ate better than most humans. And I was curious.”
“And?”
“Tasted like the saddest meatloaf ever made. Your turn.”
I run my thumb over her knuckles, watching her pupils dilate slightly. “I cried during Titanic.”
