Page 78 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

“Exactly. The Jester, the fool. We are foolish to hope this could be anything.” I want to shake him out of wherever he is mentally, but I can’t and he also just sounds so poetic right now.

“Why is that? Do you not want it?” The answer to my question is obvious, but I want to hear him say it.

“Of course I want it.”

I nuzzle into the hollow of his neck and his eyelids flutter shut as goosebumps rise up his throat. “Then take it.”

“I can’t, Charley. I’m not good enough for you. My past is dark, my present is dark, it’s all I am. I have nothing to offer someone. Eventually, you’ll fall out of love with me because you’ll tire of the struggle that it is to be with me. I don’t let people in, Charley. I have no clue how to be around anyone. The closest to me, the people that were supposed to love and cherish me…” he breaks off, swallowing tightly.

“And what?” I question, unwilling to let him withdraw like he does when we dance around his past. It’s obvious things have happened to him, that his parents weren’t good people. He’s right, he has baggage, but so do I. Everyone does.

“Nothing. There’s no point in going there and telling you. We can be friends, Charley, but nothing more.” I tighten my grip on him, proving a point that he’s not going anywhere. We are going to talk about this, about us.

“No. I won’t settle for that. Maybe you won’t tell me your story right now.” I move positions and straddle his lap. He fidgets, unsure where to put his hands, so I place them on my thighs for him. His long fingers pulse around my quads, digging in for a moment. The bulge growing in his pants is hard to miss. Is it wrong to love that he is turned on right now in the middle of a cafe while he is trying to deny being with me? “You’re convinced you’re not worthy, that you’re not capable of being loved, but that’s bullshit. Don’t let what your parents did to you define you.”

“It’s not just what they did, it’s what I did.” He snaps his lips shut, not letting himself finish that statement. I ignore the spark of interest it causes. It’s not fair to force him that much right now in such a public place.

“Riggs, stop. Whatever you did, the guilt you feel, you can tell me when you’re ready. Okay? I won’t push or pry, but I’m not leaving you either. Youwilllet me in one day. I’m here to stay.” I flatten my palm against his chest. His heart is beating wildly—strong. “I won’t let you live this life alone. Hopefully, one day you’ll want to get to know me more as well and I’ll share my story with you. None of us are perfect, Riggs, not even me.” My other hand finds his face and, to my surprise, he turns into it, kissing my palm. His lips are warm, soft, inviting. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from planting my face on his.

“I’m sorry, Outlaw. I haven’t been very kind to you in the past and I’m not used to people wanting to be around me. I don’t deserve you.” The pain in his eyes reflects in my heart. He believes whole-heartedly what he is saying.

“Well, get used to it, because I’m not going anywhere.” He strains his face with that admission, but I don’t let him retreat because of it. “You’re stuck with me.”

I kiss him.

He relents, sighing into my kiss as his hands travel the length of my thighs, round my ass, and move up my back to pull me in closer.

CHAPTER37

The dean canceledour afternoon classes on Friday. I rode with Foxy to visit Mama T when Riggs called me. It was a rather cryptic phone call, and he tried hard, but he couldn’t hide the fact that something upset him. I told him I was already in town, so he swung by Mama T’s place, met her in a quick conversation, and we jumped on his bike. We spent our afternoon riding around aimlessly without a care in the world, letting the wind propel us where it may.

I get the sense that he needs the bike more than he needs conversation, so I stay silent. I’m content being on the back, my arms wrapped tightly around him, my face buried in his shoulder. At one point, he grabbed my hand and pulled it up tighter around him so he could kiss my gloved palm, then his hand lingered on my thigh for a while. The snuggly sweet type didn’t scream Riggs at all when he is indeed crazy affectionate—always with the little touches here, caresses there. When we rode flat out on the highway, his palm would flatten out on my thigh, squeezing now and then and I couldn’t decide if he was doing it for me or him. I don’t care whichever way. His touch is everything to me already.

Bring on every bit of contact he wants to throw my way.

He pulls into what looks like a park. It’s a tad rundown, like the rest of the town we’re in. Bushes and grass—overgrown—surround the place and splintering, faded wood makes the play set a little precarious. Gravel that once was probably gorgeous and crisp has broken down and chunks of weeds are growing through it. The paint on the poles has faded with rust in some spots, and canopies that stretch overhead to keep the sun out have holes in them, dipping in some areas where rainwater pooled for too long. I’m not sure it is safe for people to play on, but kids pack it full, the swings squeaking eerily as they fly through the air, laughing and playing.

They are happy, unlike any kids I’ve ever seen playing when I grew up. Peace surrounds this park. It’s near dinner time but the summer sun is still blazing in the sky.

Sweat gleams on all the children, sticking their already wild hair to their skin, but they couldn’t care less. There is fun to be had and they fully intend on exploiting it.

I climb off the bike first and Riggs follows, swinging his well defined, mile-long leg over. We unclasp our helmets and balance them on the bike, then peel our gloves and jackets off. It is too hot for all this gear, but like Riggs, I refuse to go down without a fighting chance. Pavement makes no exceptions.

“I used to come here when I was a kid,” he shares, but he isn’t addressing me. Instead, he is looking off into the distance, thoughtfully. The sadness that surrounds him is there, but it has a reminiscent quality today.

A small smile plays at the corner of his lips. I move over to him, slowly, and link our hands. He glances down at the contact, not expecting me to be there. His eyes flick to mine. They’re soft despite the blizzard brewing.

“Is this place an escape for you? Is that why we’re here?”

“Yeah, I think it is. I haven’t been here in years, but I’ve been dreaming about it since I found out about Gramma. More so since she’s gotten worse.” Apparently, Gramma sleeps about twenty-three hours a day now. She has a nurse that comes in to take care of her, hired by Mr. Tucker.

Riggs told me he tried to fight his intervention because they didn’t want people helping them, but he gave in because she needed someone to care for her and he needed more help. Watching her like this is weighing on him.

He called me the other night, and I could tell he’d been crying. She freaked him out when he checked on her because at first she wouldn’t wake up. The way he spoke to me wasn’t mean, but it was almost as if he regretted calling me. He needed someone to talk to, so he did it anyway.

Of course, I was ecstatic that he chose to call me.

Riggs pulls me along, leading me to a bench. I want to swing and play on the play set. Yeah, I have no shame. I will swing with no regard to what people think, but I don’t trust this play set with my weight. Breaking it would not get me cool points with the kids here.

---