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Authors: Kathy Lyons
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loved the random way her mind worked. They’d be talking about basketball one second then she’d be off on bees, comparing basketball plays to the lifecycle of a hive. It made no sense, but it had them both laughing because from a certain drunken perspective, it was completely logical.
She got him to talk about his childhood in Detroit. He’d barely known his father except that he was a gambler, but his uncle was the best. And his stepdad was a close second. She liked her father because he was as air-headed as she was—her words, not his. Her mother, sister, and older brother were the psycho driven ones. Which started him talking about his not-driven cousins—freeloaders every one of them—and pretty soon she was off on the child-rearing habits of Aborigines and how it related to their religion.
He loved it.
Then they started talking about weird relatives. That took them through the next five beers. Then came another Aunt Mabel story. He’d just finished talking about his great uncle the hoarder who’d died before they had a name for hoarding when she’d lurched forward and said in a husky whisper, “Guess what I found in my aunt’s bathroom.”
Given what he’d already learned about her family, he couldn’t begin to guess, but he did anyway. “A worm farm?”
“No, Uncle Bob sold that off years ago.”
He blinked at her. “Seriously?”
“Well, he sold off the property. The worms had already died.”
“So no farm, then.”
“Nope. Condoms.”
He paused in the middle of draining his glass. “What?”
“Yup. She bought them two months before she died.”
“No kidding.” He already knew the woman had died of cancer, so to be frisky at the end was unusual.
“Yup. I think she had a boyfriend. I think he took her to chemo. Which, you know, is really sweet.”
“Do you know who it was?”
She shook her head. “Only that two of the condoms were missing.” Then she started laughing. It began as a snort, but eventually became a real laugh that she didn’t try to hold back. She’d long since abandoned the chair to sprawl on the floor beside him. Now she fell against his shoulder, holding her arms to her belly.
“You really think she got it on with her guy?” he asked, loving the feel of her whole body shaking in laughter.
“I hope so,” she said. “I really do.”
She looked at him then. She rolled her face toward him, right there on his shoulder. Her lips were cherry red, her eyes sparkling blue pools. And a thought formed in his brain: she was so different than the women he usually met. Basketball bunnies had no subtlety. But Tori? She was different. She was amazing.
“Tori?”
“Hmmm?” She smiled up at him, and he had trouble focusing on anything but the dark red of her lips.
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
She giggled, but she didn’t look away. “Maybe. Am I doing it badly?”
“Nope.” He’d been rock hard and aching for her by the second beer. “But we’re both drunk.” So much for everything in moderation, but he’d been having too much fun to stop. “I don’t want you regretting anything in the morning.”
She thought about it for a moment, but when she spoke, her words were crystal clear. “Can I tell you a secret?”
He grinned. “Sure.”
“I never regret anything. Ever. People try to make me regret things. They tell me how I was stupid or not thinking or something. Usually they’re right, so I pretend to be sad so they’ll go away. But really and truly, I never regret anything.”
He tried to imagine living like that. Never looking back and wishing you could do it all over again. He averaged three regrets a game. A moment where he’d made the wrong choice or had been too slow or too stupid. He obsessed over his mistakes, endlessly replaying them in his mind at night. Had that choice cost them the game? The championship?
Those regrets were just the basketball ones. Sometimes he thought he obsessed over those because it was too hard to think
She got him to talk about his childhood in Detroit. He’d barely known his father except that he was a gambler, but his uncle was the best. And his stepdad was a close second. She liked her father because he was as air-headed as she was—her words, not his. Her mother, sister, and older brother were the psycho driven ones. Which started him talking about his not-driven cousins—freeloaders every one of them—and pretty soon she was off on the child-rearing habits of Aborigines and how it related to their religion.
He loved it.
Then they started talking about weird relatives. That took them through the next five beers. Then came another Aunt Mabel story. He’d just finished talking about his great uncle the hoarder who’d died before they had a name for hoarding when she’d lurched forward and said in a husky whisper, “Guess what I found in my aunt’s bathroom.”
Given what he’d already learned about her family, he couldn’t begin to guess, but he did anyway. “A worm farm?”
“No, Uncle Bob sold that off years ago.”
He blinked at her. “Seriously?”
“Well, he sold off the property. The worms had already died.”
“So no farm, then.”
“Nope. Condoms.”
He paused in the middle of draining his glass. “What?”
“Yup. She bought them two months before she died.”
“No kidding.” He already knew the woman had died of cancer, so to be frisky at the end was unusual.
“Yup. I think she had a boyfriend. I think he took her to chemo. Which, you know, is really sweet.”
“Do you know who it was?”
She shook her head. “Only that two of the condoms were missing.” Then she started laughing. It began as a snort, but eventually became a real laugh that she didn’t try to hold back. She’d long since abandoned the chair to sprawl on the floor beside him. Now she fell against his shoulder, holding her arms to her belly.
“You really think she got it on with her guy?” he asked, loving the feel of her whole body shaking in laughter.
“I hope so,” she said. “I really do.”
She looked at him then. She rolled her face toward him, right there on his shoulder. Her lips were cherry red, her eyes sparkling blue pools. And a thought formed in his brain: she was so different than the women he usually met. Basketball bunnies had no subtlety. But Tori? She was different. She was amazing.
“Tori?”
“Hmmm?” She smiled up at him, and he had trouble focusing on anything but the dark red of her lips.
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
She giggled, but she didn’t look away. “Maybe. Am I doing it badly?”
“Nope.” He’d been rock hard and aching for her by the second beer. “But we’re both drunk.” So much for everything in moderation, but he’d been having too much fun to stop. “I don’t want you regretting anything in the morning.”
She thought about it for a moment, but when she spoke, her words were crystal clear. “Can I tell you a secret?”
He grinned. “Sure.”
“I never regret anything. Ever. People try to make me regret things. They tell me how I was stupid or not thinking or something. Usually they’re right, so I pretend to be sad so they’ll go away. But really and truly, I never regret anything.”
He tried to imagine living like that. Never looking back and wishing you could do it all over again. He averaged three regrets a game. A moment where he’d made the wrong choice or had been too slow or too stupid. He obsessed over his mistakes, endlessly replaying them in his mind at night. Had that choice cost them the game? The championship?
Those regrets were just the basketball ones. Sometimes he thought he obsessed over those because it was too hard to think
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