I wipe my mouth on the napkin before speaking. “I care about my friends. That’s all.”
“What was your friend’s name?”
“The one who slept with my soon-to-be ex-husband?”
“Yeah. That one.”
“Celine.”
He nods. “Celine was a moron.”
My smile is slow to come, but genuine. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER THREE
“I miss having a person who’s all mine.”
Leif frowns in thought. “I miss holding hands.”
I offer my hand and he takes it in his freakishly large one. His grip is warm and comforting. This is nice. Maybe I’m more of a touchy-feely person than I suspected.
“Thanks,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
We’re sitting on his brand-new sofa. It’s black linen and fits four people in an upright fashion, or two drunk people lounging and staring at nothing in general. The streetlights are on outside, night having long since fallen. Our late lunch turned into a day drinking session which morphed into evening cocktails at another local bar, followed by a visit to his condo to see his new, and only, piece of furniture.
We left the bar because I got a headache and a bit dizzy. It seems a lot of light and noise sort of does my head in after a while. Though maybe the cocktails played a role too. But sitting in his cool and quiet condo with some candles burning is just my thing.
“I miss the little everyday I love yous,” I say.
He nods. “I miss having someone to trash-talk with. Someone safe that you can just say anything to. Really let loose and get stuff off your chest, you know?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I keep forgetting everything that went down and for half a second I’ll think, I should text Ryan. Or I should call Celine. Then I remember and it sucks.”
His fingers tighten around mine and he makes a sympathetic noise in his throat. “Your turn.”
“That wasn’t a turn?”
“No. That was prolonged introspection on a point I’d already raised.”
“Right.” I try to think deep thoughts. It doesn’t really work. “I miss having someone who can pick things up for me on their way home from work.”
Leif rolls his head my way to give me a look of disbelief. For a big, brawny guy, he has the longest, darkest eyelashes. They almost put him on the edge of being pretty. Looking at him close up like this is distracting as all hell. No wonder my brain is having issues. If it wasn’t pickled care of the blood alcohol percentage, his presence would be enough to distract me. The sheer thrill of having his attention, of being the sole subject of his focus. And now I was gushing like a schoolgirl.
“That’s awful, Anna. Go again.”
I groan. “God. No. I just mean . . . having someone to pick up the slack and help out, you know? Someone who’s got your back. Like you’re in a team. I miss having someone I can spoil and do things for too.”
“Oh. Okay. Fair enough.”
“It’s your turn,” I say. Lord knows how we even got onto this topic. What started this relationship grumble festival.
“I miss having someone I can trust.”
“Agreed. I miss having someone to wake up to.”
“I’m not a morning person so I’ll pass on that one,” he says. “No one should have to put up with me before that second cup of coffee. But I miss having someone to share meals with.”
I nod. “And to have showers with. There’s something so nice and intimate about that.”
“I like baths.”
“Baths are good.”
“With like a nice-smelling oil or bubbles.”
“Oh yeah.” In fact, it sounds amazing. I’d invite him to have one with me, but that would probably be weird. “Definitely,” I add.
He sighs. “I miss having someone to talk to last thing at night, in bed. Just to unpack the day, and life in general.”
“You’re not even sleeping with anyone?” I ask, beyond curious. Alcohol is so great at ridding you of pesky inhibitions. Just ask the half-empty bottle of scotch sitting on the floor, or the tabs from the bars we visited. Speaking of which, men and women were most definitely giving Leif come-hither glances, despite him being there with me. Can’t really blame them, the man is so pretty. He’s definitely not single from lack of options.
I may or may not have enjoyed some of the jealous glances thrown my way. My ego is running on empty these days. I’ll take my wins where I can get them.
“Define ‘sleeping with,’” he says.
“Sex.”
“Ah.” His spare hand taps out a beat against his flat stomach. “I had a fuck buddy, but she moved away for work just before the accident.”
“That’s a long time to go without.”
“For both of us.”
“Hmm,” I say. “I miss having someone who already knows what I like in bed. No need for weird or embarrassing conversations.”
“Though the exploration process has its positives.”
“I guess so. But in that case, why haven’t you found someone new?”