I stare perplexedly at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you want to do today?”

“What are my choices?”

“Anything.”

I hold on to the bedpost, feeling light-headed for no reason as I consider what I want to do. “I think maybe you better choose,” I say. “Because everything I’m thinking involves things you’re not going to let me have.” Pills. Alcohol. You.

He presses his lips together, looking strangely happy. I’m about to ask him why when he says, “Go take a shower and get dressed in something comfortable.”

I put my hand on my hip. “Why? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” He reaches for his shirt draped on the bedpost and I have to step back so his arm doesn’t brush my breast. “And no questioning. It’ll take all the fun out of it.”

I’m skeptical, but curious enough that I obey his instructions and start to head out of the room to take a shower. But I pause in the doorway, my mind going back to his tattoo as he goes to slip his shirt on.

“What does that mean?” I ask, pointing at his chest.

He glances down with his shirt half on around his neck. “This?” He touches the tattoo lightly with his finger, then glances up at me through hooded eyes. “It means solitude in Greek.”

“Solitude?”

He nods, slipping his arms through the sleeves. “It’s a dream of mine.”

“To be alone?” I question. “Like on your little road trip thing, because I thought you were going to take me with you.” I try to say it lightly, but I’m feeling too low and down.

He shrugs. “Dreams change, I guess.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t tattoo them permanently on your skin,” I joke.

His lips tug upward. “Whenever I put a tattoo on my skin it always means something to me at the time, and I’ve never regretted getting one.”

I bite on my already chomped-off fingernails as he makes his way over to the dresser. “Maybe I should get one.”

He glances over his shoulder at me through hooded eyes and slowly scans my body, making me feel naked. “Maybe you should.”

It gets really quiet between us as we stand there staring at each other, my body heating with each second his eyes are locked on me. Finally he clears his throat and the tension crumbles.

“Now go take a shower so we can get going,” he says, picking up a bottle of cologne from off his dresser.

I nod and go take a shower, wishing the water would wash off the untamed emotions flustering inside me, along with cleaning me. But I pretty much feel the same way when I get out, all riled up inside. I try to shrug it off the best I can and put on my one and only pair of jeans and throw on a pink tank top. I braid my damp hair to the side since I’m not in the mood to curl it. Then I slip on my sandals and head out into the living room where he’s lying on the couch reading a book.

“You read more than any other guy I know,” I say, sitting down on the arm of the couch. “It’s weird.”

Without looking up at me, he turns the page. “Good. I like being originally weird.”

I cross my legs and fiddle with my braid. “Do you now?”

“Absolutely.” His eyes return to the book, like he can’t quite break himself away from the story. His hair is swept to the side and he’s wearing a gray T-shirt, accented with a black-and-white-pinstriped shirt and a pair of black cargo shorts. He has leather bands on his wrists and boots on his feet.

I sit there for a while, waiting for him to put the book down, but I’m starting to grow bored and restless. Finally he sets it down on the coffee table, marking the page by folding the corner over. “Sorry,” he apologizes, getting to his feet. “I had to get to the good part.”

I eye the worn, bent, torn cover as I rise to my feet. “It looks like you’ve read it, like, a hundred times.”

“I have.” He scoops up his keys and wallet and then opens the front door, holding it for me. “But that doesn’t mean that the good parts get any less good.”

I roll my eyes and walk out into the sunlight. “Whatever. I’ve never understood what the big deal is about reading.”

He shuts the door and locks it, turning for the stairs. “Going to another place. Getting lost in time. Pretending that you’re living a different life.” He heads down the stairs and I follow him. “What’s not to love?”

“Is that why you’re reading all the time? And writing?”

“Who said I read and write all the time?”

“I said so,” I say as we arrive at the bottom of the stairs. We head for the carport where his truck is parked. “I’ve seen you reading and writing in that journal a couple of times, but now that I’m living with you”—I grab the door handle of his lifted truck—“you do both a lot.”

He beeps the truck unlocked and we open the doors and hop in. It takes me a little bit more effort, considering how tall his truck is and I’m barely average height. We slam the doors simultaneously and he starts up the engine, giving the gas a few hard revs.

“Okay, I have to ask,” I say, securing my seat belt over my shoulder. “What is it with guys and their cars or trucks or anything with an engine, really?”

He shrugs as he shoves the shifter into reverse. “I grew up around cars so it was kind of a given that I’d love them.” He backs out, cracking the wheel to the right. “As for every other guy out there, you’ll have to ask them.”

I rest my elbow on the console. “So, what? You guys don’t ever discuss your love for engines or whatever?”

His forehead furrows as he straightens the truck and drives for the exit. “You mean, do we sit around and dig into the depths of our dark hearts to figure out why the power of an engine is so appealing?” Amusement dances in his eyes.

I aim an annoyed look at him, but when he smiles, I hopelessly lose the battle and grin. “Dark hearts?”

“Oh yes,” he says, pulling out onto the main road beside his apartment. “Us men have very dark hearts. Isn’t that what you women talk about all the time?”

“Maybe.” I sit straight forward in my seat, staring at the towering casino buildings of the main area of the city that’s out in the distance in front of us, the lights of the marques so bright I can read them, even though they’re a little ways away. The sun is gleaming and the sky is a flawless blue as we head toward the freeway. “Some really do have dark hearts, though.”

He arches a brow. “What do you mean?”

I shake my head. “I mean exactly what I mean. That some men have dark hearts and some women, too.”

As he slows at a red light, it looks like he wants to say more, but I look out to the side window, not giving him the opportunity. I haven’t made any promises to him about whether or not I’ll stop taking the pills. I’ve just chosen not to contact the guy who writes the prescriptions for me yet. I could any time, but part of me feels guilty since Ethan’s helping me out by letting me live with him. But talking about dark hearts and thinking about the men and women who I know have them makes me want to race to a place where I can get some pills, and not a half of one. I want a full dose, maybe even two or three, so that maybe my own heart doesn’t seem so dark.

Chapter Nine

Ethan

I know it’s really not her thing, four-wheeling in a truck and doing outdoorsy stuff, but the fact that it isn’t might be good for her. Maybe doing something completely out of the ordinary will help her feel better and make it a little bit easier on her when I bring up my rules of living together, ones that are going to be hard to discuss but that need to be discussed, otherwise this is going to end up being disastrous.

“The desert?” She gapes at me, completely thrown off by where I’ve driven us. She gestures at the sandy hills out in front of us that are marked with tire tracks. “This is where you brought me? To the middle of the desert? Why do you keep bringing me to dirty places?”

“It’s not dirt. It’s sand.” I unclip my seat belt and turn down the music. “And I don’t know why you sound so surprised since I’ve brought you here before.”

She crosses her arms and taps her foot on the floor. “Yeah, but it’s weird that you keep doing it.”

I silence the engine. “Why?”

Her lips part. “Because it’s out in the middle of nowhere and there’s nothing to do here but talk.”

“There’s plenty to do here,” I insist. “And being out in the middle of nowhere is the best place to be.” The corners of my lips quirk. “Remember, we already talked about this. You, me, the mountains, and the quiet.”

Her plump lips tug upward. “Oh yes, you and your mountain-man obsession.”

“Don’t judge me,” I say. “Just because I like a little bit less of a materialistic life doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.”

She unfolds her arms and leans over the console, propping herself up on her elbows, and the curves of her breast rise up out of the top of her shirt. “I never said there was something wrong with you. I just don’t get why you would bring me out here to distract my mind.”

I blink my eyes and tear my gaze from her tits. “Because it’s the perfect place.”

Her lips curl to a smirk. “Are you enjoying the view?” She presses on her chest a little harder and I know her tits are popping out even more, but I don’t look down, even though I know it’s going to be a fucking amazing view, one I’ve almost seen and still want to. There’s no use denying it.

I maintain my gaze and gesture out at the desert. “Of course, what’s not to love about the view?”

She frowns and then turns forward in her seat, fidgeting a little. “So show me what’s so fascinating about the desert.”

I climb out of the truck and stroll around the front of it, knowing she’s confused as hell. When I open her door, sure enough, she has a perplexed expression.