Page 59 of Legs

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “The Grisly Greek.”

I tried to stifle my laugh, but picturing a young Jimmy puffing up his chest and reenacting wrestling scenes as the Grisly Greek was too much. “Wow, yeah. I think you missed your calling.”

“Your turn, smart ass. Aside from your endless list of jobs, what did seven-year-old Rachel want to be?”

The title winemaker pushed to the tip of my tongue, but we were talking about childhood dreams and fantasies. There was my ballerina phase, but it hadn’t lasted long. My other wish was a lot more embarrassing. “I don’t want to say.”

“You brought it up.”

“I’m changing the topic.”

His hair had started drying, wavy black strands standing on end, a glorious mess framing his handsome face. If he really were a wrestling star, I’d name him the Heartthrob.

“Not a chance,” he said.

The Stubborn Heartthrob.

I picked up a grape and peeled its skin—a habit that drove my brother nuts—one thin strip at a time. “Fine. But this stays between us. Gwen and Ainsley would never let me live it down.”

He rolled his hand, coaxing me on, and I sighed, slipping the naked grape into my mouth. “Big Bird,” I said.

“You wanted to be a big bird? As in fly?”

“No, like Big Bird. From Sesame Street. I wanted to be Big Bird.”

He tipped his head back, laughing. “Oh, babe, that’s priceless. I’ll be in charge of Halloween costumes this year.”

“Not on your life.” My cheeks heated, and when his comment sunk in, they positively burned. Halloween was in five months. Jimmy was imagining us together…in five months.

Why had I fought this feeling so long?

Still chuckling, he wrinkled his nose at my grape peelings and grabbed another, chewing slowly. “What’s your greatest fear?”

The mood sobered, intensity in his gaze. We hadn’t spoken of our argument yet, but it was there, below the surface, under the lines etched between his dark eyebrows. If nothing else, I owed him my honesty.

“Disappointing my family. When my brother got in trouble for leaving his room messy, I’d run to mine and check that my clothes were put away. Mitch has always been smart and driven, but he pushed his boundaries—skipping classes and winding up in detention. The more he rebelled, the tighter I toed the line. Like I had something to prove, maybe. The one time I colored outside the lines was with a guy like you.”

“Like me?”

“Not like you like you, but the dangerous kind with blue hair and ink and a collection of punk albums. Dating him drove a wedge between my mother and me, and it ended in a huge fight with my dad, which was the last time I saw him. So all this stuff”—I gestured between us—“the way I’ve put you off and have been difficult was tied to this fear of mine. Letting my parents down again. Especially my father.” I rubbed at a dry spot on my heel.

He placed two fingers under my chin and forced my eyes on his. “You’re a strong woman. Independent. You have friends who love you, and you care about your mother and brother, more than most people I know. He’d be proud.”

Tears threatened again, a familiar wave of regret and sadness and longing for my father. A day didn’t pass where I didn’t think of him or silently ask his advice. When I opened my heart to the pain, it became hard to breathe. Even now, five years later, his loss had the power to break me.

I grasped Jimmy’s hand from below my chin and kissed his palm. “What about you? What’s your greatest fear?”

He threaded our fingers together. “The opposite of yours. Ending up like my father. Cold. Bitter. Stubborn. Having kids and never showing them affection. I’m scared I’m just like him.” Turmoil thickened his voice.

He may have been a stubborn mule—exactly how Alena had labeled her husband—but Jimmy was as far from cold as a man could be. “When I’m with you, you make me feel sexy and precious. That’s a man unafraid to show affection.”

He untucked one of his feet and placed it by my hip, settling his inked elbow on his knee. He ran his fingers through my damp hair. “You do crazy things to me, Sunshine.”

I purred at his admission. “The feeling is mutual. And I know you’re angry at your family, but that’s because you care. Apathy would be worse.” I touched his toned calf, dragged my nails through his dark hairs. “What happened? I want to know, and I won’t get mad. I just want to understand.”

Drawing a deep breath, he stretched his neck and exhaled. Then he spoke softly, the story binding us closer. We could share our hopes and dreams all we wanted, but the ugly truth was the iron that branded lovers. He started with Sophia, a name I was starting to loathe.

Meeting her in the grocery store had itched at me, but that was before. Now Jimmy was mine. My jealousy was irrational, but here I was, playing that name game in my head, rhyming Sophia with Banana-fana fo-phia like a schoolyard bully. Pulling her hair and kicking her shins would have felt better. Still, I listened. His hand was in my hair, mine on his leg as he bled it all out: Sophia’s family, the land dispute, and the ultimatum dished out by his father. The worst was the argument.