Page 50 of Replay
She frowns up at me. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” I pull my arm free to wrap around her shoulders. “You were challenging and outspoken, and you always knew exactly what you wanted, from a drink to a sexual position. You were motivated and brave and bold.”
“I was drunk,” she murmurs, shaking her head in disgust. “The booze made me brave.”
“Bollocks,” I scoff. “You were brave with my mother at dinner the other night. Asking her pointed questions about being a teen mother. Most people don’t do that.”
She puzzles up at me. “Isn’t that a bad thing?”
“Not for me,” I state defiantly. “I like your honesty. It’s what I grew up with, so it feels right to me. And don’t forget,” I glance behind us to make sure no one is walking nearby as I lean in and whisper, “when we were shagging, you were never fully pissed. I made sure of that.”
Tilly groans and covers her face. “Those stupid sobriety tests you used to make me do when I’d show up at your flat at all hours of the night were awful.”
“Awfully brilliant.” My shoulders shake as I fight back a laugh. “They were like free entertainment. I really was an arrogant arsehole back then.”
“You were.” She sighs heavily. “But you had some redeeming moments. I wish more men would have been like you.”
My stomach twists because the more she puts me on a pedestal, the worse it will feel when I tell her about my past. That is,ifI tell her about my past. I’ve spent the past few years hoping to meet a woman I would want to share this personal detail about myself with, but it’s too soon to know if Tilly is that woman yet. She feels like she could be. This feels like the start of something ten times more real and honest than any of my past relationships. Maybe it’s because we have history. Or maybe it’s because Tilly is and always has been special.
Either way, I need to get my head on straight and keep taking things slow. Overwatering a plant can kill it just as easily as underwatering. And I may not deserve this second chance, but I’m going to do everything I can not to fuck it up.
“Okay, now touch the heel of your left foot to the tips of the toes on your right foot with those hands stretched outward,” Santino commands from his seat on the sofa.
My face falls as I try to compute that insanely specific command. “Are you sure I did this when I was pissed?”
“Oh yes,” he deadpans. “Every time.”
I struggle to balance as I stand in the middle of his living room in front of the telly doing a ridiculous sobriety test even though I’ve not had a sip of alcohol all night. Neither has Santino, for that matter.
Dinner was lovely. We discussed light, silly things like the fact that Santino hates cats. Apparently, he has a literal fear of them because when he was young, he had a sleepover at a mate’s house, and their black cat somehow got inside his sleeping bag. When Santino slipped inside, the wee bugger attacked the shit out of him, leaving his shins and calves covered in wounds.
I, of course, laughed my arse off at that.
Then I told him of my failed attempts to win over Hercules with small bits of deli meat. The arsehole will take my offering and scamper off to eat it in privacy, never to be heard from again. Why can’t he be more like Jasper?
“Now you need to touch your nose with your left index finger while bending over to grip your right ankle with your right hand.”
“These can’t be scientific,” I state, struggling to get into position. “I mean, what kind of research did you do for these types of—”
Suddenly, I begin to fall, and when my hand flies out to catch myself, I manage to whack it on the television console that causes a sharp stab of pain to radiate up my wrist. I land in a harumph onto Santino’s furry rug, groaning loudly as I clutch my wrist tightly to combat the ache.
“Shit,” Santino says, flying off the couch to crouch down beside me. He places a gentle hand on my hip. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I groan and roll onto my back with a laugh, shaking out my hand. “Just uncoordinated.”
“Did you break anything?” Santino’s eyes drift over my hand as he inspects me.
“Just my pride,” I mumble, feeling all kinds of stupid.
He smirks and kisses the inside of my wrist. “Did you know I could see your knickers when you bent over?” His eyes are now dark pools of wickedness.
“I thought it felt a wee bit breezy down there.” I bite my lip as my libido awakens.Not that she was ever truly sleeping this evening.
“Do you need help standing?” he asks, the corners of his mouth turning down as he fights back a smile.
“I’d say no, but I think that might take some of the fun out of it.” I giggle like a schoolgirl.
“Nothing but trouble,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm behind my back and the other under my knees. He rises with ease, and I wrap my hands around his neck for stability, trying to ignore the butterflies going bananas in my belly. As a taller female, something’s just really sexy about being with a man who can easily handle the size of me.
