Proving it, he curled his fingers around hers and she let out a shuddering breath she couldn’t hold back. Her lungs ached. Just inhaling and exhaling seemed like a Herculean task all of a sudden.
“I don’t want children either,” he said in that same conversational tone, picking up his fork with his other hand without releasing her. “They’re not in the cards for me.”
“Why?” She tossed his own question back at him, expecting him to evade it. Perhaps he donned his straightforward demeanor only when it suited him.
He ate a couple of bites of cake then let go of her long enough to lift the napkin from his lap and wipe his mouth. The blunt tips of his fingers snagged her focus an instant before those same fingers were sliding over the back of her hand to loosely grasp her wrist. For how intimate the gesture felt, he might’ve slipped into her panties instead. “I’m one of nine kids.”
“Nine?” Holy shit, he was stroking the inside of her wrist. Slowly. The pads of his fingers were rough with calluses and immediately brought to mind all the other places he could touch that would appreciate his thoroughness even more. “Where…” Breathe. “Where were you in the mix?”
“The second. My older sister didn’t stick around long after she turned eighteen, so I was the one left with the kids most of the time while my parents worked. My dad died when I was twelve. Congenital heart defect that he found out about right before he passed.”
“Oh no. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” Not the most articulate of responses, but his wonder fingers were still circling her skin and those seven words strained her addled brain to the max.
“Yeah. It was worse on my mom. She couldn’t work and be home with the kids at the same time. And she couldn’t afford daycare on a waitress’s salary, so a neighbor helped during the day and I took care of them as best as I could after school. Until I stopped going to class. Then I could take care of the younger ones during the day too.”
“How old were you when you dropped out?”
“Sixteen. I hated school. It bored me senseless and the counselor kept wanting to get me on drugs for ADHD or ADD or some three-letter diagnosis that wasn’t reason enough for me to lose the only thing I had going for me.”
“Which was?” His hand had finally stilled on hers while he ate the last of his cake. In its place, his jumpy knee beat a staccato rhythm under the table, making it shake. She doubted he even noticed.
“My ability to think my way out, for me and my family. I couldn’t take the chance the meds would slow me down in any way.” He toyed with the edge of his fork, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Eventually the crappy gas-station job I worked a few hours a week led me to Roch, and it turned out I didn’t need to think about anything except what I could give her. And what she gave me.”
Nerves sprung to life in Kim’s belly, and this time they weren’t for her. These were all for Michael. “So you accuse me of teasing you with the main event and you bury a lead-in like that?”
“Sorry.” He shook himself and dazzled her with a full smile. “Roch was older, wealthy, sophisticated. She was looking for a relationship. I grew to care for her quite deeply and she…provided for me.” The pinkening of the tips of his ears snatched her focus until his words sank in.
She provided for me. What the hell?
“You kids need some more drinks?” Their waitress gestured with her coffeepot and Kim glanced down at her nearly full cup. She must be out of her element if she wasn’t inhaling caffeine by the jug.
“Do we?” Michael asked softly.
Though she would’ve been happy to talk to him for a few more days, a glance at her watch told her they’d already been occupying this booth for an hour. It wasn’t a bustling place, but he’d mentioned an early day tomorrow and she wanted to finesse her sketch of him before she turned it in at her next class. Her drawing of Michael would be her final project and despite the class being non-credit, she hoped to get at least a B.
Unlike Michael, she’d always been a hopeless school nerd.
She shook her head and smiled at the waitress. “No, thanks. Check, please.”
Her smile faded as she caught Michael’s obviously dismayed expression. Did he think she was in a hurry to split? Worse, did he think his subject matter had put her off?
Her cell rang before she could inform him how wrong he was. So wrong that she wouldn’t mind another quasi-date at this very diner or maybe somewhere a little more upscale. She definitely wanted to see him again, even if alone time with her teacher’s young, clearly complicated model wasn’t the best way to secure her loosely cinched chastity belt.
Pretending she could convince herself not to be interested in Michael—and his intriguing, slightly disquieting past—was basically a sucker’s bet. And she was no sucker.
Okay, that was a lie. But only if the dude believed in reciprocation. Michael would, she was almost sure.
Irrelevant information, O’Halloran.
Seeing her brother’s name on the Caller ID made her grin. “’Sup?” she said into the phone, noting Michael’s quick smile in response. That smile could become addictive if she didn’t watch herself.
“Hey. You staying out tonight?”
There could be no mistaking the hopeful tone in Brad’s voice, which meant he probably intended on romancing his girlfriend in every room of the house. “Lemme guess. Sara bought a new teddy?”
His rich laughter made her relax into the seat. She loved her stupid lug of a little brother and knowing he was blissfully happy with her best friend did wonders for her own equilibrium.
At least until he asked her if she could “stay scarce” that night.