Take Your Time (Fate and Circumstance #2) Read online

  His airy laugh filled the cab of the truck, falling on me like a warm blanket on a cold night. “Well, maybe that’s because you didn’t pick me up. I don’t want to go home and stare at my suitcases, and you need a moment to sober up some. It’s a win-win for us both. And we don’t have to talk about you if you don’t want. We can talk about the color of grass on a summer day, or the smell of a citrus plant.”

  My nose wrinkled as I curled up my top lip in disgust. “You want to talk about how ungodly a citrus plant smells while eating?” As soon as my giggle escaped, I noticed his body relax. How did I tell him that I’d rather fuck him than talk to him?

  “I don’t care what we talk about.”

  He waited patiently until I reached for the door handle, signaling that my nerves had settled and I was okay with going inside the diner with him. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to send my head into a tailspin and calm me all at the same time.

  Bentley was such a gentleman. He opened the door to the diner for me, and then led me to a booth with his hand on my lower back, waiting until I sat before taking the spot across from me. He even surprised me when he’d taken his hat off and left it in the truck. That kind of behavior was rare these days, and it was comforting to see there was at least one person left on Earth with manners.

  I pulled the menu out from behind the condiments, trying to ignore the vast silence around me. We were only two of about five in the entire place—and that included the one server behind the counter. Bentley was even quiet, which did nothing to ward off the suffocating nerves that constricted my chest.

  “Are you not eating?” I asked when I noticed he didn’t have a menu in front of him.

  He shrugged, a shy smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Nothing here I want to eat. Everything is cooked in too much oil, fried—completely horrible for you.”

  I dropped the laminated menu and rolled my eyes. “Should I prepare myself for a lecture about what I eat, too? Are you gonna tell me how everything I put in my mouth is gonna kill me? Clog my arteries? Make me fat in ten years?”

  His grin widened as he studied his clasped hands on the table in front of him. “No. No lectures. If you want me to tell you things I’m sure you already know, then I can. But I had no intentions of that. I’m sure you’re well aware of how bad fried and greasy food is for you.”

  “Are you some kind of health nut?” I took in the sight of his arms, his biceps stretching the fabric of his sleeves, his forearms thick, masculine. His shoulders were wide, telling of an active man, one that more than likely knew a thing or two about hard labor. He certainly wasn’t some computer geek that sat behind a desk and punched numbers into a calculator all day. Bentley’s body left no doubt in my mind that he worked with his hands.

  “I wouldn’t say health nut…I just like to take care of myself. I watch what I eat, knowing how good nutrition serves the body. I don’t judge others on their eating habits, just like I wouldn’t want someone judging me on mine.”

  “Then why’d you bring me here if you aren’t going to eat anything?”

  “I wanted to spend time with you, get to know you better. Plus, you said you were hungry.”

  My mind began to spin with thoughts of why he’d want to get to know me better. He didn’t seem to want sex. Most guys would have had me naked by now, yet he wanted to get to know me better. What did this guy have to gain from this?

  I ignored the voice in my mind that told me to run. This man scared me at my very core. He acted as if he actually cared about me, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Why would he care? But I didn’t want to ask, I didn’t want to make the same gaffe I did at the bar and mistake his generosity as something more than just that.

  “So what kind of stuff do you eat?”

  He ran his tongue over his top teeth with his mouth closed, focusing on something over my shoulder as if embarrassed. “Pretty much meats and vegetables, no wheat, grains, dairy, beans…things like that.”

  “So you can’t even eat eggs?” I asked in shock, feeling my eyes go wide.

  He laughed, but I didn’t know why. “Yes, I can eat eggs.”

  “But they’re in the dairy section at the grocery store.”

  He slapped his hand on the table. “You’re absolutely correct. You do buy them in the dairy cooler. However, it’s not dairy. I don’t have milk or cheese.”

  My cheeks burned from embarrassment, so I glanced away and shrugged. “I knew that.” And I did, had I waited another second to think about it before speaking and making myself sound like a fool. “Why do you even need to be on a diet? You look pretty fit as it is.”

  “I don’t eat that way to lose weight. And I do have simple carbs from time to time. Maybe once a week. I choose to eat this way because it’s healthy. Basically, I cut out processed foods, because those things aren’t great for you. I could go into how each thing works against your body, but I have a feeling it might bore you to death. And I’m trying to keep you awake,” he said with a chuckle. “There are so many diseases that only worsen with certain foods.”

  “Like what?” My interest was piqued and I held my breath, wondering if maybe my mom would still be around had she eaten differently. Not that it mattered anymore, but I had a sick need to know.

  “Well, for instance, grains are horrible for inflammation. And inflammation causes so many things, one of which is arthritis. Eating healthy doesn’t mean you won’t ever get arthritis, or other things such as Parkinson’s Disease, diabetes, or strokes—genetics also plays a role in that. But eating healthy can lower your chance of getting it.”

  “What about brain aneurysms?” The words leaked out in a painful whisper, burning their way through my tight throat.

  His gaze fell to the menu lying on the table in front of me. “I don’t know.”

  There was something about his voice, the hesitant tone he used, that led me to believe he had a personal connection to the subject. I didn’t know how that made me feel. On one hand, it gave me a sense of comfort, that maybe we had more in common than I once thought. But on the flip side, it made me uneasy. He needed to be my distraction, not a reminder of everything I’d lost.

  “I’m not as dumb as I sound,” I admitted, changing the topic. The heat of humiliation over appearing weak licked my neck and had me on the verge of sweating. “Had I thought before I spoke, I would’ve known eggs aren’t dairy.”

  He laughed and pushed the plastic menu closer to me. “I know. I never once thought you were dumb.”

  The woman from behind the counter with an apron tied around her waist finally came over to greet us, taking away my opportunity to respond to his compliment. Bentley ordered a glass of water, and I asked for a glass of Coke.

  “No coffee?” he probed once the waitress left to get us our drinks.

  “I hate that shit. I don’t know how anyone drinks it.”

  “What about food? Not hungry anymore?”

  “Are you kidding me? You just told me how everything on that menu will give me diabetes, heart disease, and make me stroke out,” I said with a laugh. “I think I’ll be okay without food until morning.”

  “At least you’re listening to me.”

  “I am, and I want to listen to more. Tell me about yourself.” I hoped if I kept the conversation on him, it’d ease my worry over accidentally telling him about my mom. I knew he had no reason to inquire about her, since that wasn’t something strangers typically asked each other, but I wouldn’t put it past him to pull it out of me like he had everything else.

  “Nothing really to tell. I grew up the son of a horse trainer, raised around it, and eventually went to work with my father. My oldest brother is a detective with the Special Crimes Unit. My other brother is an engineer. It’s a rather boring life. Nothing you’d be interested in.”

  “You’re a horse trainer?” I couldn’t hide how impressed I was from my tone, nor could I stop my eyes from widening and my jaw from dropping. Horses had always fascinated me, but I
never had the opportunity to ride one. It had cost money my family didn’t have growing up.

  “You make it sound like I told you I was an astronaut.” He laughed and shook his head. “I only did it to help my dad out. He wanted someone to take over when he retired. But after I learned how to do it, I really fell in love with it. Although I don’t know about my future in it; I haven’t been there to help in a while.”

  “Well, you’re going back home tomorrow, right? Why don’t you think you’ll keep doing it?”

  He shrugged while picking at a nonexistent spot on the table. “I don’t know. I’m thinking about doing something else. I don’t know what yet, but something. I’ve been thinking about it a lot after I left home.”

  “Why? I mean, why’d you leave?”

  His eyes darted around the desolate diner as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I needed to get things worked out, so I came and stayed with my cousin.”

  I saw the invisible wall go up and could tell he didn’t want to talk about his reason for leaving, or why he came to stay with his cousin to begin with. I knew that look. I wore it often and had plenty of walls of my own. So I didn’t pry, knowing how it felt to have someone force you to talk about things you weren’t ready for.

  “What about you? What do you do?” The desperation in his tone took me by surprise. It was as if he had waited a million years versus mere minutes to ask me that question.

  “Hairstylist.” I didn’t care to elaborate, not only did I not want to talk about myself, the interest in his eyes had me on edge and left my pulse pounding in my neck.

  He nodded and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He squirmed in his seat as if he wanted to ask more questions, but had to hold himself back. The sudden awkwardness became thick and suffocating as we both sat in silence, debating our next words

  “Do you have a girlfriend? Wife? Baby mama?” I wanted to lighten the mood, and by the way he smirked at me, I could tell my tactic worked.

  “No. No. And as far as I know, no.”

  “That’s surprising.”

  “Why?” He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in my direction.

  “You’re just too good looking to be single.” Giving compliments to men didn’t bother me. I’d gotten rather skilled at it. If you stroked their ego right, they’d stroke you back. And I’m not talking about returning the compliments. I’m talking about them stroking something else. Would this guy get to that point with me? I still couldn’t figure out what his intentions were.

  “What about you?”

  My eyebrows pinched together, tightening the muscle in my forehead, and I blinked at him several times. I tried to think of the easiest way to answer without revealing anything too personal. “Considering you caught me trying to pick up some random dude, I think it’s safe to assume I’m single.”

  “You said you do that often—pick up random guys, I mean. So you haven’t found someone to really satisfy you yet?” He seemed to not have an issue talking about sex, which only served to heighten my curiosity about him. But it still felt weird speaking to a stranger about my sexual exploits. It was much easier to just do it without all the talk. I still felt like he was in the middle of conducting an investigation. Not that his questions were weird, they just seemed like he’d set them beforehand and couldn’t wait to pry certain things out of me. He was good at asking a non-personal question and then sneaking the personal ones in there.

  I cleared my throat and finally said, “I’m plenty satisfied. But what’s the use in keeping them around when there are others that could possibly be better at it?”

  “I can find lots of reasons to keep someone around.”

  “None that I care about, though. If they stay, then that constitutes a relationship of some kind, which means we have to come up with labels for what we have together. Then there’s talk of taking things to the next level. And I don’t do that. So it’s just easier to move on to the next.” It wasn’t until the words were out before I thought about them. Admitting that to him would only serve to lower my image in his eyes. It made me sound like a total slut, and for the first time in months, telling myself I didn’t care what he or anyone else thought of me didn’t help ease the judgment I’d surely face. But he would leave tomorrow, never to look back, taking his opinions of me with him. Hopefully.

  The waitress came back, momentarily interrupting our conversation as she dropped off our drinks. She rolled her eyes and turned to leave when we told her we didn’t want to order any food. The minute her back was turned, Bentley started where he’d left off.

  “You have a fear of commitment?” No judgment could be heard in his tone, but I still felt judged.

  “Not exactly. More like a fear of love.”

  “You can date without falling in love, though.”

  I found myself at a crossroad. I could continue to explain myself, tell this man more than I’d bothered to tell most—after all, I’m the one that had started this conversation with my need to defend my reasons. Or I could pass it off and lie through my teeth, which I’d become very proficient at. Admitting to him how I felt, knowing I’d never see him again, might be good for me. Cathartic, even. Hear what an unbiased person thought. But that would also open me up for criticism, and I didn’t do too well with that.

  I took a deep breath, ignored the nervous flutters in my stomach, and went for it. “But isn’t that the point of dating? To get to know the other person in hopes of finding love? If not, then what is? Why waste your time going out with someone, getting to know them, investing all that time and energy when all you’re interested in is a one-time hookup? That’s all I’m doing. I don’t have a desire to get to know the other person. I don’t need to know about the dog they had when they were a kid, or the names of their best friends growing up. None of that matters to me. So why bother?”

  “Touché. But doesn’t that get tiring? Randomly hooking up with strangers? Isn’t it better when it’s with someone that knows you? Someone who understands your body, how it works, what you like, what you don’t? A stranger can’t fulfill all your needs because he isn’t familiar with them. Those are things you learn as you get to know someone.” The man had a point, but so did I.

  “I haven’t grown tired of it yet,” I said with a shrug, wanting the conversation about my sex life to end. I needed the topic to drop before I said things I couldn’t take back. Bentley’s knack for getting me to confess things no one else could had my mind reeling and left me with an unexplainable desire to vomit. Where had he come from? When I’d agreed to go with him in his truck, I never thought our conversation would be like this.

  “Why do you have such an issue with love?” His question felt like a serrated knife ripping through my heart.

  I wanted to tell him to fuck off and then walk out of the diner. My rapid heartbeat and burning cheeks had me feeling like a poked bear, angered and annoyed. “What’s the point in it? Sure, it feels wonderful when you have it. But it’s crippling when it’s ripped away at a moment’s notice. It leaves you a broken mess, empty inside, and nothing makes that agony go away. It becomes your whole existence. You eat, breathe, and live in excruciating pain. It’s just easier to live without love in the first place, than to go through that.”

  “Doesn’t the saying go, ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all’? Isn’t the memory of it worth it in the end?” He wouldn’t let the conversation die, and I hated it. I needed to be done with it—with him. It was too much, and if it continued, I would surely break. My strong persona was nothing but a lie, a costume I wore, and Bentley’s persistence threatened my armor. He cracked it, and it wouldn’t take much to make it fall away completely.

  Without thinking or concentrating on my words, I spoke with an audacious tone. “I lost my dad when I was too young to remember him. I may have had his love, but I don’t remember it. I don’t remember what his hugs felt like, what he sounded like first thing in the morning. I don’t recall the way he held
my hand or the tone he used when saying ‘I love you.’ Losing him didn’t affect me other than not having a dad for half my life. But I had my mom, and she worked hard to make our lives normal, despite being the only living parent. I knew her voice, how she sounded when she told me she loved me. I knew the way she brushed her hair in the morning, the way she set the table for dinner, the way it felt to be wrapped in her arms. I felt her love every single day. And when I lost her, I lost everything. Am I grateful I had over twenty-four years with her? Absolutely. But it doesn’t make having her suddenly ripped from my life any easier. It doesn’t make the pain that consumes every part of my body ever go away. So no, I don’t believe it’s better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. Because it’s the losing aspect that taints the loving part forever.”

  He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. His heat spread through me, calming my erratic heart, deflating my anger. Such a simple touch, a comforting gesture, yet it nearly broke me in two. It made my breath catch in my throat, and it brought the burning tears to the surface that I’d been warding off all evening. I never cried in front of anyone, especially people I didn’t know. I saved those moments for my pillow and the silence of night. I didn’t know what it was about him, or his presence, but it brought about emotions in me that no one had been able to since my mom had died.

  “Sarah,” he whispered. Even the way he said my name begged for my attention. “Everyone loses someone. We’re supposed to outlive our parents. It’s the natural order of things. We are given a certain amount of time with the ones we love—be it parents, siblings, friends, and sometimes, even children. It’s what we take away from those relationships that matter. Not what we’ve lost, not what we’ll never get back, but what we learned from them. I’m sure your mother taught you so much in your life. I’m sure she helped mold you into an amazing person. Those memories you spoke of will live on forever inside of you. It’s up to you to keep her memory alive. By cutting people off, by not letting anyone see the young woman she created and raised, you’re only doing her memory injustice. I’m sure she spent so much time loving you, teaching you right from wrong, giving you the tools to be an amazing person, and I don’t think she’d want you to hide that from anyone.”