Counterfeit Love

"If I thought that is what you genuinely wanted from me, from this," he said, waving between us, "I would absolutely agree to that. Like I said, no pressure. No expectations. But I don't think you really want that. I think you have created this idea about what is and what isn't possible. And you stick with it. Despite any mounting evidence to the contrary."

Well.

That was like a punch to the gut.

And it was exactly what my therapist had been trying to say for ages, albeit in more roundabout ways, wanting me to come to the conclusion myself.

"I'm not trying to change you. And I'm not saying you need to change. I'm saying maybe some of your beliefs can be reevaluated. If you do that and you still think there is no way in hell you want to consider starting something more than friendship with me, then like I said, that is okay. I won't be hurt. Or angry. We can still hang out and eat food and I will continue to educate you about good music. And you can keep making my eyes bleed with shitty movies," he said, smirking. "Just think about it, doll, okay? Take however long you need. But think about it."

"Okay," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I will think about it," I assured him. And, maybe even more so, myself. Because the knee-jerk reaction was to stubbornly stick to my beliefs, my comfort zones.

I owed it to myself to genuinely think it through, to consider that possibilities had shifted.

Even as Finch effortlessly switched topics to something lighter, telling me about a pot dealer who'd shown up to his place looking for the guy who'd apparently been squatting there before, I was starting to realize something.

That things were changing.

That this situation had managed to soften some firmly held beliefs about myself, about what I was and was not capable of experiencing.

Because he was right.

What we had: it was something.

And if we gave it half a chance, I suspected that it could lead to things I had given up on.

Love.

Happiness.

Normalcy.

Well, as normal as a future leader of a paramilitary camp and a world-renowned counterfeiter could have, that is.

On top of that, there was no denying that my body had started to reevaluate its inability to feel something toward a man.

It felt a lot toward Finch already.

Camaraderie. Comfort. Amusement. Safety. Fun. And, what's more, attraction.

I didn't owe it to Finch to explore this.

But I damn sure owed it to myself.

"So, you ready to go take out the trash?" he asked a few hours later after we'd spent the day watching TV cuts of R-rated movies, snorting at the ridiculous ways they'd tried to cover all the expletives.

By taking out the trash' he meant murdering a man who had once held me down on a bed and stripped me of something that was meant to be mine to freely give.

So yes.

Yes, I was very ready to take that particular piece of trash out.Chapter TenFinchI wasn't used to having 'the talk.'

But after a lot of thinking with her sleeping peacefully on my chest, it seemed like the only option.

Because shit had changed, hadn't it?

In small ways that led to bigger things.

I mean, I was quitting smoking because she wanted me to. I'd considered--and attempted--it dozens of times in my life. The only time I had been successful was when the choice had been taken away from me when I'd gotten locked up. But as soon as I got out, the first fucking thing I did was go buy a pack. That was the level of addiction we were talking about here. It had gotten to the point where I had accepted it as a part of my life.

Then she came in, throwing around her sass, buying me fucking lollipops and patches, and something seemed to click. Sure, I'd snuck a couple cigarettes. But she had always been there in my ear, whispering about wanting me to live a long life.

So, I was quitting smoking.

And I was thinking about a future that didn't involve a revolving door of beautiful women. Because for the first time in my life, I was starting to think that just one woman could be as equally as fulfilling. Maybe even more so.

I might not have been the smartest guy in the world, but I knew it wasn't going to be an easy sell for her. I understood that what she had been through had made some things hard. If not completely impossible.

But I wanted to try.

I wanted her to give it a try.

Give me a chance.

Maybe it would go nowhere. Maybe she would decide that she was right all along, that relationships were not something she could have in her life.

That was fine.

But I wanted us both to find that out, not just assume it.