Taut: The Ford Book

It’s probably a bad idea to admit my care-giving limitations when I’m trying to get her to reevaluate her feelings about my partner potential. But f**k it. I’m already losing, what’s it matter? “My father was so good at it. He did everything right. He was patient, he was encouraging, he was firm when I needed discipline, but never angry or abusive. He never hit me, not even a swat. And”—I stop to laugh here—“as I’m sure Mrs. Pearson made you well aware, I was not an easy kid to raise. I did all sorts of really bad stuff. Electrocuting Jason was the least of my crimes. But my dad, he protected me no matter what because I just didn’t have much capacity for empathy back then. When I got older I finally realized that I was hurting people, that just because I could make golf balls into mini-explosives didn’t mean I should make golf balls into mini-explosives.”

I look over at her and she’s smiling. Very big, in fact. I look down at Kate and she’s sleeping. I slump down in the seat a little so she can be more horizontal. “Anyway, my dad played innocent whenever the suspicion fell on me”—I look down at Ash again—“as it often did. But he covered for me and I never got caught. I was too smart and too well-protected. He always told me, ‘Ford, I am always on your side. No matter what you do, no matter how much I disagree with it, I’m always on your side.’ But whenever I got home from whatever meeting my dad was called to about my atrocious behavior, he always handed out the most clever punishments. Except he never called them punishments.”

“Like what?” Ash interrupts. “How did he punish you?”

“One time I had to cook the meals for a month and I wasn’t allowed to use the same recipe twice. It had to be the perfect balance of protein, carbs, and vegetables. I had to shop for all the ingredients, learn the recipe, and serve it at dinner. I’m a fantastic cook when I want to be. All because of some practical joke I played on a nun in school.”

“You did not go to Catholic school.”

I smile. “I did. They were the only private school that would take me. And while our neighborhood was nice and close to lots of city amenities, it was not a place you sent your kids to public school if you could help it. So I went to Saint Margaret’s. That’s where I met Spencer Shrike.”

She busts out laughing at that. “He went to Catholic school too?”

I nod. “He did. So did Ronin, but that was much later. I didn’t meet Ronin until high school, he was already modeling for major clothing designers by then.”

She tilts her head and smiles. “Damn, I wish I’d gone to that school. I could rock a tartan skirt and some knee socks. I went to a private school too, but it was all girls.” She makes a face at that.

“What color was your uniform?”

“Burgundy with gold accents.”

I take a moment to picture her like this. “I’m gonna need the name of that school so I can hack into their records and get a picture of you.”

She chuckles. “So it sounds like you had the perfect father. You’d probably make a great one because you had such a good example.”

“Yeah, but I’m not my father. He was a lot like me, but I’m not a lot like him.”

Her eyes squint together and she pauses her smile, like she’s thinking really hard about that statement. “I’m not following.”

I shrug. “He and I shared a lot of characteristics. Looks, speech, a love for foreign languages. He played all the same sports that I excelled in. He was super smart, but not in a freaky way like I am. He was the perfect me, if that makes sense. He had all the good things but none of the bad. I’m like Bizarro Rutherford Aston III. The mirror-image of him. I look like him. But I’m lacking in all his altruistic qualities. I’m not generous. I’m not understanding. I’m not a Giver.” I look over at her and her attention is rapt. “I’m a Taker, Ashleigh.”

She leans her head against my shoulder, right next to Kate’s face. “You haven’t taken anything from me, Ford.”

“Yeah, but I want to. You have no idea how bad I want to take things from you.”

She sits up and looks me in the eyes. “Like what?”

“Your body, for one. Just because I haven’t had sex with you doesn’t mean I don’t want to. And—” I almost stop myself, but f**k it. I’m on a roll, might as well just keep going. “I’d like to take Tony from you too. I’d like to make you forget all about Tony.”

She sighs and rests her head back against my shoulder, wrapping her hands around my upper arm like she’s holding on for dear life. It takes me several seconds to realize how much of her body is pressed against mine. I’ve never let another woman touch me like this. Ever.

“But I realize it’s not going to happen. It’s OK, I get it. You love Tony. I was wrong to make that rule and I take it back.”

She thinks about this for a little while, then lets out a loud sigh. A resigned sigh that speaks volumes. That sigh says, I give up. “I’d like to go for a quiet walk on our date tonight. And hold hands.”

I should be worried that she’s giving up. If I was a good person, one who cared about what’s best for her, I’d be worried about this. I’d tell her to forget about me, be with Tony. He must love her. There has to be some misunderstanding. Give it another try.

But I’m not a good person. So I lead her away from Tony and towards me. “You’d like me to take you on a quiet hand-holding walk in the biggest party city on Earth?”