“Home,” Regan echoed. He was playing with her hair, winding it around and around his finger, the thick silken strands glinting in a spiral. “You’re sure you want to bring me? I know how much your dad means to you.”
“Yes,” exactly, that’s the point.
“He might not like me.”
“So? Your parents don’t like me.”
“That’s different, they hate everyone and besides, they don’t matter.”
“I don’t believe that’s true.”
“Well, believe it,” she scoffed, rolling over to face him. Her eyes were oversized, vulnerable. She’d stopped wearing makeup around him and it was a beautiful, destructive thing, seeing her eyes so clearly. She looked younger, five years or lifetimes at least. It made something growl within him, something primitive that made him want to kill tigers for her, to beat other men with clubs. Marc had called at least twice. She hadn’t made a secret of it, had even laughed and offered Aldo the phone, but he hadn’t taken it. He no longer trusted himself.
“I don’t always make a good first impression, Aldo. Especially not with fathers.”
“Why not with fathers?”
“I don’t know, I only know how to flirt. Older men make me uncomfortable.”
Men, he thought. Men make you uncomfortable.
“My dad will like you. He likes, you know. Weirdness.”
“Oh, so I’m weird now?”
“You spend all your free time with me, don’t you?”
“Fair.” She slid a nail down his chest, circling his sternum. “Did you tell him I’m an artist?”
“Yes.”
“But I’m not.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Okay. You’re not, then.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she grumbled, though she snaked an arm up to wrap around his neck, bringing his lips to hers. “I hate it,” she whispered to him, her tongue grazing the edges of his teeth. She tasted like salt, like Amatriciana, which always tasted salty to him.
“Come home with me,” he said again, and she sighed, fingers twisting in his hair.
“And if your father hates me?”
“He won’t. He doesn’t hate anyone.”
“He could hate me.” Her voice was bitter, tasting like anise now. “Plenty of people do.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, tipping her chin up.
Her hand circled his throat, experimental. Her thumb dragged over his Adam’s apple, testing. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered about her thoughts constantly, even in rare cases when he knew she had none. What did Regan think about quantum groups? Answer: Regan did not think about quantum groups, and yet his mind couldn’t rest from wondering. She slid into his calculations and nudged him, pointing things out. What really happens in a superposition, Aldo? When particles are in two or more states at once, Aldo, what does that mean, what does it mean for us, what does it mean for time? Will we ever know The Truth?, and he would think, unsatisfied, No, Regan, we won’t, I can’t do it, I’ve always known I’ll never know, and she would express her disappointment with a bite, with the tightening of her fingers. Give me truth, Aldo, or be gone from my sight, get out.
The kiss progressed, as kisses typically did. He liked the way she changed direction, the way she chose her pace or else put her hands on his hands and told him, You choose, You tell me, You put me where you want me, Arrange me to your liking and let’s see, let’s see where this goes. He was in his head, always, even during sex, but she seemed to like that about him. Her hands were always drifting to his hair, to his neck or digging into his skull, as if she wanted to crack it open and lay claim to whatever was inside. He liked that. He liked it, how grabby she was, how selfishly insistent. He liked her even when she was stingy, when she was ungenerous. He liked her best when she was saying, with the twist of her fingers, You are already mine.
“I suppose,” she sighed, “I should just do whatever you ask, shouldn’t I?”
“Do I ask for much?”
“Oh, only everything,” she said, half-smiling, and turned her head. “Will I disappoint you?” she asked, and her voice was hushed, the youth of her face playing tricks on him again, luring him into fallible safety. This was why it was so foolish, all his primal instincts. She was the hunter, not him.
“No,” he said.
She thought about it for a moment, stroking her thumb over the bone of his cheek.