Page 26 of Mating Theory
Shouting. Clapping. A disruption from the entrance catches my attention. The bride and groom enter to a round of fierce applause. They look like glamorous movie stars. Harper’s hair is down in resplendent honey-brown curls. Christopher seems more disheveled than in the church in some slight, unnamable way—as if his hair’s been ruffled and then reordered. They are the perfect picture of newly married couple.
Like everyone else in the room I clap, but I turn a worried glance to Sutton—and find him looking at me. He meets my eyes and then drops his gaze to my mouth.
The couple begins their first dance, and the audience settles slightly to watch them. I sit down without an ounce of grace. Now people are standing between me and the dance floor, making it so I can’t see; that’s fine, though. I can’t stand another second of Sutton’s intense scrutiny. God, he makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the room.
Sutton sits down more leisurely beside me.
I take a bite of the persimmons with goat cheese and honey, careful not to look at Sutton when I do, certain that I won’t make another sexual sound while eating. Ever again.
“I had a cat once,” he says, as casual as anything.
That makes me glance at him. “Did you? What was her name?”
“He was a boy. And I called him Tom.”
“For tomcat?”
“For Tom and Jerry.”
A shadow falls over his handsome face. “He disappeared one day. I wanted to think it was just one of those things. Maybe he fought a cat who was stronger.” A harsh laugh. The grooves around his mouth make him seem suddenly older. Harder. “No one likes to think their dad would kill their pet.”
A soft gasp. “Did he?”
“I don’t know. Probably. He never liked Tom much. And… he shot my dog right in front of me. Lucy was barking. It was late at night. Dad was drunk as shit.”
My chest tightens. “I’m so sorry.”
“I sat with her until she was gone.”
There are no words, so I lean against him, offering him the warmth of my body. He seems so cold. So alone, for a man who has so many friends.
“I think you might know something about shitty dads,” he says softly.
A fist clamps around my throat. “How do you know that?”
His voice becomes wry. “A guess. You don’t end up on the streets because you’re well cared for. And you don’t trust men very much. I’m guessing that started early.”
I swallow hard. “It wasn’t like that at home. No drinking or shooting my pets. I had food and clothes and… a lot of things. Some people would say I’m crazy for leaving.”
“Fuck them. They don’t know what it was like.”
I look at him sideways. “You don’t know what it was like either. I might be crazy.”
“No one chooses the street corner unless you have no other option.”
“I couldn’t stay.” My breath catches, remembering. He’s right about something—I learned not to trust men early in life. My experience on the streets reinforced that, but it didn’t start there.
“What did he do?” The question is so offhand that I can almost answer.
“He—” The words won’t come out. I look down, ashamed.
“Should I kill him for you? I might enjoy it.”
I face him then, my eyes burning. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Thank you for being—”
“Kind?” A harsh laugh. He runs two fingers across my cheek, capturing a tear on his skin. “God, you’re tempting like this. Crying. Except I want to be the one to make you cry. Only me. Cry and beg and scream. Don’t mistake me for a good guy, Ashleigh. I’m a bastard. No one knows that better than you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ashleigh
“You ready to go?” he asks, his voice low.
Not really. Leaving means we’re one step closer to saying goodbye. But I wouldn’t make him stay at the reception longer than he wants to be here. “Let’s blow this joint.”
“Better to avoid the rush,” he says, his tone pragmatic.
Somehow I think the truth has a lot less to do with a post-party traffic jam. “Let me use the restroom.”
The line for the ladies’ room has already snaked around a column when I get in line. One of the hotel staff points down a curved stairwell. “There’s another set of restrooms down there, miss.”
“Thanks,” I say, flashing him a grateful smile.
I find a much smaller bathroom tucked in the corner of the second floor. After using it I wash my hands and stare at myself in the reflection. I look like the old me, the one with hot water and a good comb, the one who ate fruits and vegetables. I know how quickly I’ll turn back into the street-version of me. Always a little dirty, no matter how much I scrub in the cold gas station bathroom. Always a little hungry even when I’ve just splurged on fast food burgers with Ky.
