The Gritty Truth

by Melissa Foster

  Despite her rattled nerves, she was surprised that no part of her wanted to make up an excuse tonight. “Okay. Do you want to come in and wait? I have to run upstairs to my apartment for my jacket.”

  He cocked a brow and said, “You can wear mine.” He shrugged his jacket off and held it open for her to put on. “I’m not taking the chance that you won’t come back down.”

  She laughed softly, loving his sense of humor. “Won’t you be cold?”

  “Not likely with you by my side.”

  Even though she knew she wouldn’t be cold with him by her side, either, hearing him say it so openly made her a little nervous.

  He must have noticed, because he said, “I already promised to keep my hands to myself, and if you’re worried, text that blonde you’re always whispering with when I come around. Tell her I’m taking you out.”

  “Her name is Angela,” she said, feeling silly for being so cautious. “I don’t need to text her. I trust you, Quincy. A psycho killer probably wouldn’t take the time to text for months on end. Let me just change out of my ballet slippers.”

  He cocked that brow again, and she explained. “I keep a pair of slip-ons right behind the desk.” She pointed to the reception area.

  His eyes remained glued on her as she changed her shoes. She grabbed her keys and stepped outside. He helped her put on his jacket, which was about five sizes too big, but cozy warm and smelled delicious, like him.

  He held her gaze as he rolled up the sleeves and said, “You look hot in my jacket.”

  She felt her cheeks flame. “So did you.” Unable to believe she’d had the guts to say it, she turned around and locked the door to avoid his heated gaze.

  “Do you have to go through the studio to get to your apartment?”

  “No.” She pointed to the door a few feet away and said, “That door leads up to my apartment. Where are we going, anyway?”

  “You’ll see.” He put a hand on her lower back, guiding her along the front of the building.

  When they turned the corner, walking toward the back of the building, she said, “There’s nothing behind the building but a parking lot and loading docks. Should I be worried?”

  “Never when you’re with me.”

  That big hand of his pressed against her back, guiding her forward, and when they rounded the corner, her breath caught. The frame of his truck was illuminated with strings of tiny white lights. The tailgate was down, and the smallest firepit she’d ever seen sat on the metal bed, a teepee of wood perched in the center. Just beyond, he’d spread out blankets and colorful pillows, and in their center were several take-out containers from her favorite restaurant and two to-go cups.

  “Quincy, this is amazing,” she said as they neared the truck. “It’s like those romantic Instagram pictures that I thought never happened in real life. I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”

  “Yeah, I can’t either.” An incredulous laugh rumbled out.

  The pit of her stomach sank. “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, shit. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I meant that I’ve never done anything like this before. But I’ve waited a long time to go out with you, and I didn’t want to take you just anywhere, like out for pizza and to see a movie.”

  “I like pizza and movies,” she said, surprised that he sounded nervous, too.

  “Cool. I do, too.”

  “But I like this a million times better,” she admitted, and the smile she earned told her exactly how happy that made him.

  “I’m glad, because I wanted our first date to be special, and honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing. This is the first real date I’ve ever been on.”

  “No way” fell out before she could stop it.

  He nodded. “Way.”

  “I don’t even know what to say to that. I figured you had women lining up at your door to go out with you.”

  “I do, but that doesn’t mean I take them up on it.”

  The way he said it wasn’t bragging or cocky. It was unabashedly honest, and between that, his nervousness, and the romantic date he’d arranged, Roni’s trepidation fell away. He set the flowers on the bed of the truck and helped her in, then climbed in behind her.

  She picked up the flowers as he knelt to light the fire, and he said, “I had no idea wildflowers were still around this late in the year, but I gave it a shot and got lucky.”

  “In Maryland they can bloom through the middle of November, especially when the weather is as warm as it’s been lately. I’ve actually never been given flowers before. It feels wonderful,” she admitted.

  He cocked his head, giving her his full attention, and said, “I haven’t given them, either, and it feels great for me, too.”

  Oh Lord, she loved that.

  He turned back to the fire, trying to get the kindling to light, and she told herself not to make too much out of his confession. “I love that you picked them from the very spot I mentioned. I’m surprised you remembered.”

  The fire crackled to life, the flames reflecting in his eyes. He shoved the lighter in his pocket and said, “I’ve got a good memory for important things.”

  He thought she was important! Maybe she was special to him after all.

  She looked at the to-go cups and said, “Is one of these for me?”

  “Mm-hm. The one on the left is water with lemon.”

  Her favorite drink. “Oh gosh, you remembered everything,” she said.

  “I hope so. I got you a club salad with extra avocado, honey mustard dressing, and a side of grilled Brussel sprouts. To be honest, I had to check our old texts to remember what kind of dressing you liked.”

  Inside she was doing a little happy dance, and she felt comfortable enough to tease him. “You did? Maybe I should rethink this date after all.”

  He laughed.

  She held up the flowers he’d given her and said, “Would you be offended if I put these in my water?”

  “Hold on a sec.” He jumped out of the truck and went around to the front, grabbed something from the cab, and climbed back in with a plastic cup that had WHISKEY AUTOMOTIVE printed on the side and a bottle of water. He poured the water into the cup and held it out. “It’s not fancy, but it’ll do.”

  “It’s perfect.” She put the flowers in the cup, and they settled in on the blankets.

  Quincy leaned over and touched the best-friend charm on her necklace, the brush of his fingers on her skin sending prickles of heat through her. “Who’s got the other half?”

  “The one I’m always whispering with. Angela.”

  “Lucky girl.” He held her gaze so long, the air between them sizzled. When she shifted her eyes away, he began taking the tops off the containers and said, “Hungry? This food isn’t going to eat itself.”

  She was in awe of everything he’d done. Even the way he’d surprised her was special. “This looks amazing, Quincy. Thank you for going to all this trouble.”

  “Thanks for joining me.” As they started eating, he said, “How long have you taught dance?”

  “Officially, a little more than a year.”

  “What do you mean, officially?”

  “I did some teaching when I was growing up. I’ve danced at this studio since I was five, two days a week at first, like Kennedy. But I loved it so much, dancing was all I wanted to do. I’d make up songs about whatever we were learning in school and dance in the halls, and at home while I did my chores.”

  “I bet you were adorable,” he said, and the warmth in his eyes told her he really meant it.

  “I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

  “So you danced two days a week growing up?”

  “For a bit. Eventually I wanted to take three dance classes each week. But my grandmother, who raised me, was a waitress and a seamstress, and she didn’t earn much money. She was good with it, saving every tip, every extra penny. But even when I was young, I knew dance classes were a luxury. So to earn extra money, I started helping neighbors
in our apartment building. I walked their dogs, played with kids while their moms were busy. I’d do whatever they’d let me do to earn the difference in tuition between two and three classes per week.”

  They ate as they talked, and Quincy watched her intently, listening to every word she said, like her grandmother used to. Like he cared about her answers.

  “I loved studying under Elisa, the owner of the studio. She danced professionally all over the world for more than twenty years, and she retired when her mother got sick. She came back here to take care of her, and after her mother passed away, she opened the studio. She’s an amazing person, and an even more incredible dancer. I’ll never forget the day she pulled me aside after one of my classes and suggested I take private lessons. I was ten, and when she said I reminded her of herself, it was the biggest compliment I could imagine, and I burst into tears.” She took a sip of her water and said, “I’m such a dork.”

  “You’re not a dork. You’re passionate, and that’s wonderful.” He ate one of his fries and offered her one.

  “Thanks. I love fries.” She loved that he shared even more. “Do you want some of my salad or sprouts?”

  A flicker of wickedness shimmered in his eyes. “I’d like everything of yours.” He stabbed a cherry tomato with his fork and popped it in his mouth, holding her gaze as he said, “Mm, sweet and juicy.”

  “Ohmygod.” She turned away, her cheeks burning.

  “You’re sexy when you blush.”

  She caught his grin and couldn’t stop her own from appearing. He was so easygoing and likable, she didn’t even try to hold back her sass. “And you go from sweet to naughty in the space of a second.”

  “I’m not going to apologize for that, but I can see it embarrasses you, so I’ll try to tone it down. Did you take the private lessons?”

  “In embarrassment? No. I was born this way.”

  He laughed. “Girl, you are somethin’ else.”

  “When you figure out what that is, please let me know.” Wow. This was fun. He was bringing out a confident side of her she hadn’t seen since the accident. “To answer your question, I did take private lessons, and eventually I danced five days a week, but it took some creativity to afford it. My grandmother started making the outfits for recitals and productions, free of charge. Elisa would provide the materials, and Gram would make them.”

  He stretched one long leg out in front of him and bent the other, leaning his arm on his knee and turning his body toward her, and said, “Gram sounds awesome.”

  The way he said Gram, as if he knew her, felt nice. “She was. My dancing was as important to her as it was to me.”

  “I can’t imagine having that type of passion for something as a kid, much less that type of support. What was your grandmother like?”

  “Tough. She didn’t mollycoddle, but she wasn’t cold, either. She’d kiss me good night, and she showed up for every dance recital, but mostly she showed her love by fostering my dancing and raising me when she hadn’t expected to. She could be hard on me, pushing me to get straight As and to stay on the right side of the law, which of course I appreciate. But if I said I couldn’t figure something out, she’d get this look that I used to call her don’t give me that face.” Roni tried to mimic her grandmother’s expression, tilting her head, narrowing her eyes, and pursing her lips.

  Amusement rose in Quincy’s eyes, and she liked that look on him as much as she liked the heated one he’d worn only moments earlier. “That’s quite a face.”

  “Right? Gram was tiny, too, five feet tall on a good day, but she was fierce. When she made that face, I knew I was on my own. That was okay, though. I loved school, and I was good at it, so it just made me work harder and learn to be a problem solver. But I remember when I was much younger, wishing she was more like my friends’ grandmothers who would make elaborate meals and dote on them. Gram cooked like it was a task, not a pleasure, making sure I got the right vitamins and minerals. We always had three food groups, and everything was overcooked, regardless of what it was. She could make a mean apple pie when she was in the mood, which wasn’t often. But that made it even more special. She always said she filled them with love. It’s no wonder I like apple pie so much. Just the smell of it makes me feel good all over. But being hard on me, and pushing me to make a better life for myself, was Gram’s way of showing her love.” She ate a forkful of salad, as more happy memories warmed her.

  Quincy covered her hand with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You must miss her.”

  Roni nodded, her throat thickening. “I do. A lot. Before you knocked on the window, I was thinking of her.” She looked down at his hand, aware of the roughness of his palm, the warmth of his thumb stroking her skin. “I never really thanked you for checking on me in the weeks after she died. That was really nice of you.” She looked into his compassionate eyes and said, “I looked forward to your texts. They helped.”

  “I looked forward to your responses. I wanted to come over so you weren’t grieving alone, but you were so adamant about wanting to be by yourself.”

  Although she hadn’t admitted it to Angela, part of her had wished she hadn’t been too nervous to let him come over. “Sorry. Other than Gram, Angela, and to some extent Elisa, I’ve never had anyone to rely on. I don’t know how to do that.”

  “I think we have that in common. But I’ve learned that it’s okay to trust people, to let them in and rely on them. If I can learn to do it, maybe you can, too.”

  Their eyes held for a long silent moment, heat and something deeper filling the space between them. His face was so close, she could see thin white scars above his left eyebrow and along his cheek. She wondered how he’d gotten them but was too distracted by the desires simmering inside her to hold on to the thought. She felt his fingers twitch on her hand, and he licked his lips, his eyes drilling into hers. She wondered if he was going to kiss her—and was surprised by how desperately she wanted him to. His fingers tightened around her hand, and her pulse quickened.

  Kiss me…

  QUINCY’S FINGERS ACHED to tangle in her hair, to cup her jaw and feel her beauty and her passion as he devoured the mouth he’d been fantasizing about for all these months. Damn, he loved her full lips. Angelina Jolie had nothing on her. But he’d promised himself he would take it slow so as not to scare her off. The problem was, Quincy had no idea how to do this. He knew how to fuck, and he knew how to be a friend, but he had no experience with the deeper emotions consuming him every time he saw Roni or texted with her. He had the urge to protect her, and at the same time, he felt a visceral need to be closer to her—and he wanted to explore all of it, to learn everything about her, to touch her, to hold her naked body while they lost themselves in each other.

  What. The. Hell?

  He’d never picked apart anything like this, much less a physical connection. But he had a feeling that sex with Roni wouldn’t be sex as he knew it, just like this date was different from anything he’d ever experienced or imagined. He and Penny had spent plenty of nights talking, but in all the time he’d known her, he’d never once felt anything even close to this. If he didn’t put on the brakes, he was going to take that kiss, and whatever this was would be over before they even got started.

  He reluctantly moved his hand, instantly wanting to reclaim the connection. Instead, he took a swig of his water and cleared his throat in an attempt to calm his desires.

  Yeah, that didn’t work.

  He’d known since the first time he saw Roni there would be no tempering, but hell, he had to try. He went for a change in subject to steer his brain to a safer track and said, “Where did you grow up?”

  “Not in this idyllic town, that’s for sure. I grew up over the bridge, in an awful, drug-infested neighborhood. My grandmother had lived there all her life and refused to move. But she wanted me to get out as soon as I graduated high school, which was why she pushed me so hard.”

  “It’s strange that she wouldn’t have moved you out of there whe
n you were younger.”

  “The area wasn’t like that when she was growing up, and she said she wasn’t going to let anyone run her out of her home.”

  “That’s gutsy. Did you stay clean?”

  “Of course. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. My grandmother smoked a pack a day right up until the month she died. She would have throttled me if I’d so much as tried to smoke.”

  “That’s good. That’s love.” That’s what Truman had done for him before going to prison. “Are your parents still around?”

  Her gaze drifted to what was left of her salad, and she pushed the food around with her fork. “I don’t know who my mother is. My father left home when he was eighteen, and six years later he came back to live with my grandmother with me in his arms. I was about a week old. He was a drinker and a gambler, and he was in and out of my life for the first few years. He stole from my grandmother and he was mean. One day he showed up drunk, demanding money and tearing the apartment apart. My grandmother pulled a gun on him and told him to get out and never come back or she’d have him arrested.”

  Bad memories resurfaced of the night Quincy had shown up at Truman’s place asking for money to pay off his debt to Puck. He’d never forget the disgusted, and so fucking disappointed, look on Truman’s face as he’d sent Quincy away and said, You made this fucking mess of a life you’re living. Unless you want to get out of it, don’t show your face around here again.

  Roni lifted troubled eyes and said, “I haven’t seen him since I was five.”

  He looked at Roni, with her sweet demeanor and clean life, hating that she’d experienced such ugliness and wondered if he was selfish for wanting to continue getting to know her. But he wasn’t that drugged-out guy anymore. He’d proved that every day for the last two years, and he would continue to do so until they buried him six feet under. Pushing that hesitation aside, he said, “I’m sorry you went through that, and I’m glad you had your gun-toting grandmother.”

  “I told you she was fierce.”

  Damn, he loved how her smile lit up her face. He’d planned on laying out all of his ugly truths for Roni tonight. He’d owned up to his past to plenty of people, without hesitation. But he’d never been faced with sharing that darkness with someone he wanted to become involved with. He knew that once he did, it had the power to change everything, including the way she was looking at him as she sipped her water, and he wasn’t ready to give that up just yet.