“Say please.”

“Knock it off.”

“Say please, Trace.”

She’s so annoying. “Please Trace.”

Hollis flops on her side to face me. “Why are you so immature?”

“Why are you single?”

The question comes from out of nowhere, catching her off guard, and for a second I don’t think she’s actually going to answer.

“That’s a rude thing to ask someone. Why are you single?”

“I told you why.”

“No you didn’t.” She laughs a little. “So why are you single?”

“Same reasons everyone is.”

“I don’t know what the hell that means.”

Yeah, me either. “I haven’t met the one,” I tell her slowly, deciding to be honest and answer the question. “I haven’t met a woman who wants to date me for the right reasons. I’m not a meal ticket. I bust my ass, my body is on point, and I work all the time so I’m never around—but I hate coming home to an empty house. I want kids and it can’t just be with anyone. I want to be married and I’m only doing it once.”

I can’t see her face, but my instincts are telling me I’ve stunned her speechless.

So I elaborate further. “My family needs to love her. When I’m gone—I mean when I’m traveling for work, not when I’m dead—it’s important that they’re there for her when I can’t be home. Also, I’m trying to beat my piece-of-shit brother to the altar, so I can lord having the first grandchild over him.”

First comes silence, then comes laughter. “You would not get married just to one-up your brother.”

The hell I wouldn’t. “I mean—I’ll be in love and shit. I wouldn’t just marry whoever.” Considering Tripp is on track to be the world’s oldest eligible bachelor, I know I’ll win hands down.

Er, not that it’s a contest. Or a race. Ha ha.

“You seriously want kids?” Hollis asks in the dark. “How many?”

“I don’t know—four?”

“Four!” she practically shouts, and right in my damn face considering we’re only inches apart. “Are you for real?”

“Why, is that not enough?”

“I can’t even take you seriously right now.”

“What! Four is not too many. It’s perfect. Two isn’t enough and three is a crowd, so they each need a buddy to hang with. My parents had three, and sometimes I wish I had another brother to gang up on Tripp with. My sister isn’t an asshole like that, so she doesn’t count.”

“I can’t even with you.”

That makes two of us, three if you count my mom, who’s probably listening at the door. “Alright, so now that I’ve spilled my guts to you, want to share?”

“Ugh, fine. Fair is fair I guess.” Hollis groans, shifting on the bed. “I’m single because…” She hums, unsure. “Well. It’s really difficult finding a man who isn’t like my father, if I’m being honest. I grew up in this world—the baseball and the athletes. They’re agents. Scouts. High-powered men, all of them…assholes. That’s not what I want, no offense.”

“None taken.” Tons taken, actually, but I won’t lie here and argue that I am not any of those guys. I’m me, and I’m fucking awesome. “You know, Hollis…you won’t lose your identity if you date someone in your father’s circle, in his world. Not if it’s the right person.”

“Well I tried that, remember?”

“If you’re talking about Marlon Daymon, don’t. Because that dude is a fucking douche and everyone knows it. It’s not your fault he’s a pile of crap, okay? You fell for the bullshit like everyone else, including some of his guy friends—he treats everyone the same, not just the women he dates.” I would know, because I’ve witnessed it firsthand. “Not all athletes are cheaters. Not all agents are dishonest. Not all high-powered people are cutthroat.”

“I just…never want to lose myself. I thought when I met someone, it would be easy. Like a partnership.” Her laugh is rueful. “I’m delusional, go ahead and say it.”

She’s not. “That sounds nice, not delusional. Did you ever wonder what it’s like being on this side of the fence? Having people—men and women—using you? Someone can know nothing about me and still want something from me. I stopped having casual sex years ago. Too many women trying to get themselves knocked up, thinking ’bout that lifelong, monthly child support check.”

“That would suck.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to what it’s like for me to date and one of the reasons I’m single. It has nothing to do with losing myself or feeling less than and everything to do with wanting something real.”

“What if a person didn’t have…real boobs?”

“Hollis Westbrooke, you did not have a boob job.” But it would be cool if she did, ‘cause breasts.

A light laugh in the dark space. “Guess you’ll never know.”

“You’re lying.”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” But. “Can I feel them and tell you if they’re real or not?”

“You’re just trying to cop a feel, you perv.”

“Duh.”

She moves around next to me restlessly, inadvertently bumping my hip, knocking my arm with her elbow, kicking my shin with her foot. Each touch electric.