The Hooker and the Hermit

A couple of minutes passed before I could speak again. “Hey, Annie.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“What did you mean back in the office when you said people might find you a sympathetic character because of your past?”

There were several beats of silence, like she was considering whether or not to answer me. Finally, she did. “You know how in movies sometimes, they’ll have this cliché where a parent leaves their baby on the steps of a church or a hospital or something?”

I nodded and glanced at her. She was smiling, but it was the most heartbreaking smile I’d ever seen.

“Well, that cliché is me.”

I frowned at her, dividing my attention between her and the road. “What do you mean?”

“My mom abandoned me at a fire station when I was six.”

Jesus. Fuck.

I blinked at her, stunned. “Christ….” I exhaled the word and refocused on the road.

I wanted to ask more but didn’t know how to proceed, so we sat quietly for a few minutes.

She surprised me by volunteering, “Then I was sent to a group home and…well, eventually, following that, I was in and out of foster homes. See, I know this business, and if people love anything, it’s a sob story. Why else would they continue to highlight the contestants with sad backgrounds on all those reality talent shows? It helps the audience to relate, to sympathize and, in turn, show support. So, when the press digs into my background, sees how I dragged myself up from low beginnings, it could work to our advantage.” She tilted her chin up, a stubborn tilt, like her professionalism was her armor.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what the fuck I was supposed to say. Instead I drove, thinking about what it must’ve been like for her, a beautiful little girl with big brown eyes, a little girl given more brains than affection, a little girl who no one loved.

When I considered her innate tendency toward introversion paired with her childhood, it really was a wonder her past hadn’t completely destroyed her, made her withdraw into herself completely.

She was brave, but it was buried deep under layers and years of neglect and loneliness. She had no one.

Honestly, her story and the bland tone she used when she related it made my stomach hurt like I’d been sucker-punched. I felt queasy. She spoke about her past like it had happened to someone else. It made me want to hit someone.

While I appreciated that she was doing this fake girlfriend act to help me, I couldn’t care less about all that. I cared about her, and I was struck by how much.

Oh, Christ.

I cared about her.

This was not supposed to happen. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone get close again after being taken for a fool by Brona, and now Annie was already burrowing under my skin. I wanted to know all about her, and it unsettled me. I also had a feeling getting Annie to open up, really open up, wasn’t going to be an easy task, especially now that I knew the basics about her childhood.

She broke the silence. “With Brona’s story coming out, even though it’s all lies, you need to be prepared for people to turn against you. Having me as your girlfriend allows us to balance out some of that negativity.”

I realized that, unlike me, during the last few minutes she hadn’t been thinking about her childhood; she’d been thinking about how to exploit her childhood to help me, how her past was going to work to my advantage. I was used to other people using me, but I’d never had someone voluntarily offer to be used by me. My protective instinct flared, like a beast, fierce and strong. But still I said nothing.

She turned an introspective smile to me, one that I caught out of the corner of my eye. I glanced at her as she suggested, “I could plant a nickname for Brona around social media—The Harpy has a nice ring to it. No one would be able to trace it back to me.”

I let her attempt at humor lighten my black mood, and I gave her a half smile. “My mates call her The Hag.”

She chuckled softly and shook her head. “Name calling…it’s like we’re in elementary school.”

“She started it,” I said, hoping to make her laugh again. It worked.

Eventually, the silence lightened, grew oddly comfortable. About twenty minutes passed before we reached a town. I noticed a small, old-timey-looking ice cream parlor as we drove by, so I did a quick U-turn and parked outside. Annie looked out her window.

“We’re going in here?” she asked curiously.

“I figured it was about time you ate. You haven’t had anything since breakfast,” I told her, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. She didn’t protest at my touching her, so I ran my knuckles along her neck for a second, savoring the silky feel of her skin. She trembled. Yeah, she wanted me just as badly as I wanted her. She was just better at hiding it, and now I knew why.

“You know, despite evidence to the contrary, I don’t actually eat dessert for every meal. You’d make a terrible parent. All you’d feed your children is sugar.”

“Ha-ha. Come on, let’s go inside.”

“I’ll go in, on one condition,” she said, holding up a hand.

“Does that condition include eating you out? Because if so, you don’t even have to ask,” I replied, filthy flirting.

She sucked in a breath. “Ronan, you are….”

“Hush. I know. I’ve got a dirty mouth. Continue with your condition, honey.”

Shockingly, she gave me a playful scowl even as her cheeks blushed scarlet. “I’ll have the ice cream, but only if you have some, too.”

“Oh, will I be licking it off you then?”

I could tell she was trying not to smile now. “God, you’re insufferable. No, you won’t be licking it off me. You’ll be eating it from a cone, like a normal person who eats food for pleasure every once in a while, rather than only for fuel.”

I really, really didn’t want to eat the ice cream, mainly because it would fuck up my regime. However, I thought that maybe I could use this deal to my advantage. “Hmm, I’ll eat the ice cream—like a normal person—if you’ll let me ask you five questions about yourself. And you have to answer honestly, and you can’t talk about work for the entire duration of the conversation.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Two questions.”

“Three and it’s a deal,” I said, holding my hand out to her. “Besides, I’m going to have to learn more about you if we’re trying to convince people we’re a real couple.”

She sighed. Looking a little sad and—dare I say, regretful?—she shook my hand. “Fine, but you’re not allowed to order vanilla.”

I gave her a dark look. “Vanilla’s not my flavor, Annie.”

Shit, if only she knew.

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting on a park bench eating our ice creams. Annie had ordered one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of pistachio while I’d gone for a cherry chocolate combination. She watched me expectantly as I brought the ice cream to my mouth and licked it. And yeah, okay, I might have groaned a little at how good it was. I hadn’t had sugar in a long time, maybe a year. Annie smiled bigger than I’d ever seen her smile, looking satisfied.

“You can wipe that smug look off your face,” I said, eyeing the handful of paparazzi who were hovering across the street, snapping shots of us. “Otherwise, I may have to kiss it off.”

“Smug, moi?” she asked, happily licking away. The sight of her pink tongue sneaking out past her lips did great things for my filthy imagination.

“You know you are. Now, I think it’s time I got my side of the bargain. First question.” I hesitated, made sure she was looking into my eyes, and kept my tone carefully respectful. “What was it like growing up in foster care?”

Annie furrowed her brow. “Lonely. Frightening. Disappointing.”

“Why frightening?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re this little kid at the mercy of strange adults, strange kids. It’s like roulette. You could get nice people, or you could get bad ones.”

Thinking of her as a little girl being sent to live with bad people made me angry, and it made me want to tuck her away someplace safe and take care of her; but I didn’t let her see that. I was also careful to keep pity from my expression. “And why disappointing?”

“Because you get your hopes up, and then people decide they don’t want you anymore,” she practically whispered before her voice turned steely. “That’s why I never let my happiness or survival depend on others. It means I eliminate the disappointment.”

A light bulb went on like a fucking lightning strike, and understanding hit me.

Annie kept herself closed off from people, from relationships, so they couldn’t reject her. It made me wonder if she’d ever allowed herself to be in a relationship at all, which prompted my next question. “When was your last boyfriend?”

“I do believe you’ve had your three questions, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

“The second two were follow-ups. Not real questions. Answer me.”

She sighed, pursed her lips to show me she was dissatisfied, but answered anyway, “A little over two years ago. His name was Jamie. We…dated all through college.”