Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 769(@200wpm)___ 615(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 769(@200wpm)___ 615(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“I….” Well, actually, yeah, that is exactly what I think, but he said it like it’s a bad thing.
“You’re suspicious,” Rex says, like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Suspicious that something you might like or want is a trap. That if you trust it, it’ll all go wrong. No?”
“Well, I mean—”
I drop my head and stare at the saw-shaped hole in the snow. Rex tilts my head up. I don’t know what to say, but it seems somehow crucial that I say the right thing. Rex looks like he’s in actual, physical pain.
“I… I used to,” I say. His face softens. He takes the ends of my scarf that have come untied and tuck them back in. I look back down at the snow.
“I… do you… you don’t like that, I guess?” I ask, unable to meet his eyes. Rex bends his knees to look me in the eyes.
“I don’t like that you’ve had to think that way,” he says. “But I get it.”
“I thought that about you,” I admit. “For a while.”
“Yeah,” he says.
“I just—you were too good to be true. So handsome and strong and kind. Understanding. And I felt like, if you were true, then why the hell would you want me? You know? And so I guess it was just easier to think that you didn’t.”
“What I think you still don’t get, Daniel,” Rex says, “is that, for me, you were too good to be true.”
I snort and Rex grabs me by the shoulders, his expression fierce.
“When I first met you, all I knew is that you were this real educated, real smart professor and I’m the guy who never graduated high school. Who can barely read.” His face flushes. “You’re gorgeous and sexy and ambitious. You’re from the city, used to hanging out with famous bands every night, and you showed up in this little town in the middle of nowhere where I barely leave my house.”
“Rex, I—”
“But my point, Daniel,” he says, his face close to mine, “is that all those things are true. We are good for each other. But not too good to be true. Complementary. That’s the word, right?”
I nod.
“The other night, you said that we mean different things when we say I love you. That you don’t know what it means to have someone love you. This is what it means. It means doing things together and learning what each other needs. I give you what you need. You give me what I need. And they’re not the same. And that’s fine. It’s not too good to be true. It’s just good.”
I’m nodding spasmodically as Rex talks. My hands fist automatically, which looks ridiculous with the gloves I’m wearing.
“But I have to tell you that… I just—still, every time you start to say something serious like this, a part of me thinks you’re about to end it. I don’t mean to go there, but I just—I’m sorry.”
I search his face for any clue that I haven’t just set us back months. Rex lets out a breath.
“I know,” he says. “I can see it in your face.”
“It’s just where my mind goes, automatically,” I say, wanting to explain.
“Well, I think we’ve established that where your mind goes and the truth aren’t exactly the same place,” he says. “Seriously? Is all you think about serial killers? I think you watch too many horror movies.”
I laugh, incredibly grateful that Rex is willing to joke about it.
“Hey,” he says, “I love the places your mind goes. I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious about it. Just… you know, you don’t have to think that way about me. You’ll see.”
“Okay,” I nod, trying not to sound suspicious. Rex kisses me, his hot mouth a shocking contrast to the cold air around us. I gasp into his mouth and try to put my arms around him, but I lose my balance in these damned boots and start to stumble. Rex tries to grab me, but he overbalances and we both fall into the snow, Rex landing on top of me.
Rex uses his position to kiss me again, and I try desperately to roll us over so he can be the one getting snow jammed into his collar.
“Ha, get off me!” I say. Rex is laughing, trying to find a way to stand up without squashing me. When he finally manages it, and pulls me up with him, he kisses me again, our faces both cold with snow. He reaches down and plucks the saw from its pocket of snow, putting his other arm around me.
“What does that look like to you?” he asks, indicating the spot where we rolled around.
“A murder scene,” I say, but I’m smiling at him.
“Hmph,” he says.
“Well, what does it look like to you, then, Mr. Sweetness and Light?”
“A snow angel,” he says, with an expression that clearly says that this is not what he thinks. “See? Complementary.”