Page 55 of Last First Kiss
“Pretty much. Hollywood is weird that way. But Century is huge, so this will bring wider distribution. It’s a good thing,” he said.
“Great.” She looked over at him. “Why are you so bouncy?”
“I’m not bouncy,” he said, then asked, “Maserati?” He’d been naming cars at random in between conversations and she just laughed, but she couldn’t help but notice he was acting weird.
Was he nervous?
* * *
He parked his car in front of an older house in an older, but nice, Ft. Lauderdale neighborhood. He’d been naming random kinds of cars most of the way, just to hear the infectious laugh that came out of her mouth and to distract himself from the nervousness he was feeling.
She was so beautiful, especially looking relaxed and rested for once. It had been such a good afternoon, but now, meeting her family—it was new and unnerving.
Now they were at her childhood home and he felt unsettled, unsure why he had a lump in his throat or why he was so nervous. Was it because he’d never met the parents of a woman he was dating? Were they even dating?
It wasn’t that. It wasn’t about her. There was something that made him feel disconcerted and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
He stepped out of the car and looked around. All the homes in the neighborhood were different, not like the cookie-cutter communities that were popping up all over the place. The lawns were all manicured and had one or two sensible cars parked up front. No BMWs or Mercedes, but nothing run-down either. At her house there was a new model Honda Accord and a Toyota Camry. There was also a flagpole attached to the house, and on the light blue flag there was a sun with the word “summer” on it. He wondered if her mother changed the flag with every season.
Growing up in foster care, he’d always thought these kinds of homes and communities did not exist. But here he was, standing in front of one.
A small hand on his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts. “Rock? You okay?”
“Yes. Yes, sorry, I’m good,” he said as he finally began to walk. “Wait!” He rushed over to the small garden with two palm trees and a big terra cotta pot with some colorful flowers and kneeled down. “Is that a garden gnome?”
“Uh . . . yeah, why?” She hunched down next to him. “You’ve never seen a garden gnome? I’m sure there’s another one around here, maybe even a tacky pinwheel too.”
Wow. He was having some sort of out-of-body epiphany.
This was the house of his dreams and he’d yet to step foot inside of it. Loneliness, the real kind. That was what he was feeling. The kind that grabs hold of you and sucks deep at your marrow. Ironic, that a man who was always around people—crowds of people—could feel lonely.
Besides Paul he didn’t have anyone in his life who cared for him. Everyone wanted his money or fame. No one just wanted Rocco.
The realization hit him hard, sucking the air out from his lungs like a punch right to the gut. There, on a quiet little neighborhood in suburbia, staring at a chipped garden gnome, he realized what a lonely existence he had. No family and no real friends, except Paul.
“Hey, hey. You okay?” She moved quickly in front of him. For a moment she seemed hesitant, bringing her hand up and then back down. But eventually she placed it right where he needed it, cupping his face and looking him straight in the eyes, concern and uncertainty etched on her face. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
He swallowed, unable to voice anything.
And even if he had the ability, how could he voice it? What kind of pussy would he be?
Oh . . . badass ninja woman, don’t mind me, I’ve just realized that my constant state of unhappiness stems from loneliness. Please, hold me.
So instead he looked into her eyes, searching for some sort of understanding. Empathy. Something. Her eyes were just as intense as his, and then once again . . . proving that she was a mind reader . . . she did what he needed her to do. She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his lips. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional or whether she had bad aim and meant to catch his cheek, but it didn’t matter. She stood, extended her hand to his, and helped him to his feet. Once he was up, she again surprised him by wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head in his chest, and hugging him.
When was the last time someone hugged him?
Never?
He searched his memory files and nope . . . never. He had never had a single hug in his life. And the thought made his throat close up. She grabbed one of his arms that were still limply by his side and wrapped it around her body. Directing him. Teaching him how to hug.
What the hell was happening? They were laughing and being silly not five minutes ago. Now he was having a full-blown panic attack.
She tightened her grip and then he did the same, resting his chin on her head, as she moved her hand up and down his back, soothingly.
After a while of just standing there, she finally looked up.
“Better?”
