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“So?”

He puts his hand on my arm, squeezing gently as if he wants to shake me but stops himself. “Sodon’t you get it? You could be with someone smarter than me. You should be with someone who doesn’t fuck up order forms and doesn’t need the computer to read things to him. You should be with a guy who’s been to college like you and reads books and has discussions about, like, philosophy and shit. Youshould, but I don’t want you to because I want to be here with you. Fuck that guy who can read six-hundred-page books and explain what actually happened in the First World War because I still don’t know, but fuck that. I want you, and I want to be in this bed with you whether you’re sweating in it or not, whether you still have your ovaries or not?—”

“I still have my ovaries.”

“See? You’re smart and have shit to teach me, so don’t hold it against me, okay? Whatever you think Ishouldhave, fuck it. Because I want you.” He molds his hand to the side of my face,fingers in my hair, thumb stroking my cheek. “Don’t try to scare me away. You can’t.”

Maybe not, but sooner or later, this will come to an end, and I’d rather cut it off before we go too far for us to walk away without one or both of us hurting. Especially after he’s opened up this wound I know hasn’t healed. And beyond my own doubt about us, I need him to know he is more than someone who struggles to read.

“I don’t like that you say you’re not smart.”

“I’m not.”

“Maybe not book smart, but you are in so many other ways. Intelligence comes in many forms.”

“Tell that to my dad,” he jokes, except there is that underlying pain in his voice I’ve heard before.

“I will. Is he the one who said you aren’t smart?”

“Mostly.”

“He’s wrong.” I place my hand on his face, mimicking his position. “You’re incredibly smart, the most competent person I’ve ever met when it comes to construction and labor. You’re also really good with people, and that takes a special emotional intelligence not many people have.”

“Doesn’t make the company any money, though.”

“Doesn’t it?” I trace his cheekbone with my thumb. “You think people want to work with assholes?”

“People work with Craig.”

“Because he’s a two-faced snake who will charm a client and then come home and take off his mask.”

“Like my dad.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, laying my hand over his on my cheek to move it to my mouth, kissing his palm then placing it on the bed between us, lacing our fingers together. “My ex-husband being an asshole to me is one thing, but a parent being one to their child is something completely different—andworse, in my opinion. Children are born innately loving their parents, and for it not to be returned is devastating.”

“Sounds like you know,” he says, twining his legs with mine. Now that I’ve cooled off, I don’t mind.

“My dad was an alcoholic and left when I was five.”

“Oh shit, Tar, that’s awful.”

“On the one hand, I’m glad because I’m sure our lives would have been worse if he’d stayed. But it still wasn’t easy. It was really hard. My mom worked herself to the bone to provide for us, and my brother Ian never had a life. If he wasn’t taking care of my younger brother Roman, he was doing oil changes for extra cash for us. I knew that if I wanted to go to college, I was on my own. I needed a scholarship to pay for it.”

“So you got one?”

“Partial for athletics, partial for academics, and I worked in the library all four years to help with the rest of it.”

“I wish you didn’t have to,” he murmurs, speaking the things I tell myself. Money isn’t everything, but it sure makes a lot of things easier. I was always so jealous of the kids who didn’t have to work or keep their grades up to maintain their scholarship. They got to fool around and do whatever they wanted. Growing up was the same. Kids with new clothes, backpacks, and shoes. Girls with makeup and perfume. I wore a lot of Griffin’s hand-me-downs when I could get away with it, which was often because I played sports, and thrifted my clothes or bought strictly from clearance sections.

Which is why Dante’s thoughtfulness is so unexpected and difficult for me to accept without feeling like I need to work for it.

I shift closer to him. “I wish your father didn’t make you feel like you’re anything less than brilliant at what you do.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Maybe we can agreethat we’re a couple of kids trying to outrun the shadows of our fathers.”

True. And I could be better about showing my gratitude. “Maybe I can learn to say thank you more often when you’re sweet to me.”

He lifts his hand to my mouth, dragging the tip of his finger over my lips. “Sucking on my dick would be fine.”