Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)
Lance balks. “Dancing in the middle of the road?”
“Yes,” I sigh happily. “It’s so romantic.”
“Which is precisely why I stay away from romance,” he laughs. “That sounds ridiculous to me.”
“You’re better off focused on the ass, I guess.”
“Exactly.”
Twisting so I’m actually sitting sideways in my seat and facing him, I watch his jaw flex. It’s an unconscious quirk. He does it when he’s mulling something, when he doesn’t have quite the comeback he wants.
I study him for a while. He lets me. He keeps his attention on the road and doesn’t chastise me for watching.
Lance could easily be my type. He’s intelligent and funny and he works hard. His heart is good, even if his mouth is filthy, and I know he likes to eat what I bake. I’d even put money on him being a good father. I’d put even more on the table that he doesn’t want any part of that.
“Don’t you ever want to stop chasing women and just breathe?”
“That would be a no,” he cringes. “That sounds terrible.”
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeats. “There’s too much responsibility in relationships. You’re suddenly on the hook for someone else’s happiness.”
“I wholeheartedly disagree,” I shoot back. “The only person responsible for your happiness is you.”
He takes the exit into Linton, shaking his head. “Not true, sweetheart. If you are in a monogamous relationship, it’s your job, even if only in part, to bring happiness to the other person.”
“Maybe joy,” I argue. “But not happiness. Two completely different things. Think about it. Joy is something that can be spread. You can bring someone joy, just like the old saying goes. But happiness? That’s an entirely personal thing. Someone else can’t make me become happy if I’m not.”
The lights from Goodman’s Gas Station light up the car as we go by. His lips press together as he considers my stance. “Let’s say we’re dating,” he says finally. “And you really wanted to move to Oregon, right? Maybe it’s the fulfillment of your life’s desire to live in Portland. The job of your dreams is there or something, I don’t know. And for whatever reason I can’t go and it’s the only thing in the world that you really, truly want. I can’t give you that. If you stay with me, you’ll never really be fulfilled. You’ll never be happy. Doesn’t that make me a dick?”
“There are so many problems with that analogy,” I laugh. “First of all, relationships are compromises.”
“What if I can’t compromise?”
“Then you shouldn’t be in a relationship.”
“Which is what I said from the start.”
“But love is compromise,” I insist. “You can’t have everything you want. You have to meet in the middle.”
“Love isn’t compromise. It’s conditions,” he says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “You love someone if. They love you if. If you don’t fulfill that condition, they leave. Ever wonder why the divorce rate is so high in this country? Because we’re a bunch of hedonistic fuckers.”
“So you’re discussing monogamy, obviously.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn to face the windshield. The car pilots onto my street. Lance turns the music back on, leaving the subject alone.
As much as I want to say he’s wrong about all of that, he’s not. I hate that he’s not, but he’s not. There are conditions to relationships and if you don’t meet them, it’s kaput. That’s exactly what happened with Eric. I didn’t meet whatever conditions he had. Probably the one about anal.
“I guess you aren’t the one-night stand kind of girl?” he asks on a half-laugh.
“Hardly.”
“So you’re a straight relationship girl?”
“I’m not anything right now,” I say, wondering if that will ever change.
“What about Jonah?”
“I hope Jonah has a nana like yours,” I laugh, making Lance laugh. “I think I should date more. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Eric.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Do I want to ask about Eric?”
“You don’t.”
The car pulls in front of my house. Whitney’s car is in my driveway and a light is on in the living room. I realize I haven’t checked my phone all night and I laugh when I consider how many texts are probably on there from her.
“I guess this is it,” I say, grabbing my purse off the floor.
“I’m at least going to walk you to the door.”
“You totally don’t have to do that.” I laugh as he gets out of the car and jogs around to the front. His body moves so gracefully and with such ease that I wish I would’ve been taping it to watch again later. “Thank you.” I climb out of the car as Lance holds the door open and step into the cool evening air.
His hand finds the small of my back again as we walk up the sidewalk. I love how it nestles right in the curve. There’s no fumbling like with so many men. It’s almost a natural gesture and I know I’ll be remembering it later.