Page 51 of Forgetting You, Forgetting Me

“Looks aren’t everything.”

“They sure are when they look like Sophia,” I rebuke, wanting to get a rise from him. Instead, I get honesty.

“She’s too smart for the likes of me.” He places his butt into the empty beer bottle beside him.

His comment makes me instantly forget my iniquity. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“No, Saxon, it’s not,” I reply softly. “You’re incredibly smart. And incredibly kind, too.”

A gruff laugh explodes from his chest. “Kind? What a way to be put in the friend’s zone.”

We’re quiet for a moment, me mulling over his words.

“Maybe that’s my problem,” he reveals a moment later.

“What problem?” I ask, tucking my foot underneath me as I get comfortable.

“Why I’ve never had a serious girlfriend before.”

My mouth hangs open. Are the women of America blind?

“I don’t know if I should be offended or not by your stunned expression,” he mocks. “Do you think I’m some kind of manwhore? Actually—” he raises a finger “—don’t answer that. I’ve dated, and I use that term very loosely, plenty of women. Just none of them did it for me.”

I gulp as my curious mind wonders just how many women is “plenty of women.”

“Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places,” I suggest. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut however because it looks like I’ve just kicked a puppy.

He frowns, avoiding my eyes. “Maybe.”

I want to know more about Saxon, as I hope to uncover the truth about why he left Montana.

“Where did you go after you moved out?”

“Which time?” he asks, smirking.

“The first time,” I reply, wanting to go back to the beginning.

“The first time I moved out was when I turned eighteen. I moved in with Laura Rose.”

I can’t help but screw up my face in revulsion. “Laura Rose was…” But I pause, as the next word out of my mouth was surely going to be a curse word.

But Saxon reads my train of thought. “A tramp?” he offers, while I nervously pull at an imaginary thread on my jeans, not confirming or denying his claims.

“It’s okay, Lucy. We all know what she was.Sheknew what she was.”

“And yet you chose to move out with her. Why?” I ask, unable to hide my confusion.

He shrugs, reaching for the pack of Marlboros off the arm of his chair. Lighting another cigarette, he replies, “Even though I had my suspicions that instead of working she was cheating with the entire staff at McDonalds, it was better than living at home. And besides…” He smirks. “I didn’t have to put the hard yards in with her.”

I choke on air. Gathering my composure, I ask, “How long did it last?”

He chuckles, peering off into the distance as if remembering the time. “Not long. Six months, give or take.”

“I don’t remember you coming home. Where did you go after that?”

“I moved in with Pauly. I lived there for three years. Fun times,” he says, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “We used to jam in his shitty little garage. We thought we were the Rolling Stones.” He chuckles, revealing this memory as a fond one.

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