Have I Told You Lately?

He released her hand and placed both his palms on the counter behind her, caging her in. “Tell me when’s the right moment to tell another person your past bullshit, your damn secrets that you don’t wanna face, your skeletons?” His eyes skewered hers. Everyone claimed to want to know shit, but there was a price to the telling.
“I know people who marry and never share some of their secrets,” he said, inching closer. “A lot of shit dies with them. How do you know when it’s right to share? Because I’ve no idea how to ride that train.”
The pink tip of her tongue leisurely moistened her lips. “I think when you care about someone, you build to a level of trust and you take them into your confidence.”
A level of trust, female bullshit.
“Yeah, but that’s the problem. It’s easier to give your body, than your deep personal shit.”
She ducked her head.
He continued speaking in a low whisper. “I mean the real stuff that’s close to your heart. The fucked up shit everybody keeps locked up. Most folk don’t get close enough to ever see the dark places inside.” He watched her swallow hard.
“So I ask again, how do you know when’s the right time.” He leaned next to her ear and whispered. “After how many dinners, or dates? Before or after we fuck? What’s the magic number that opens the door to my personal shit, ‘cause I damn sure ain’t telling everybody my personal business.”
His voice remained conversationally low, calm, while nerves jumped and pulsed at the thought of sharing some of the things he’d done in the past. He’d rather buy anything she demanded, or take her anywhere in the world, than fully open up and let her see some of the dark places in him. Shit, he didn’t like to look inside and rarely did.
She narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t about everybody. It’s about you and me.” She pushed his chest. He stepped closer.
“Okay, what signals do I get to let me know I should trust you with my shit? You ready for that?” They looked at each other.
Her eyes slid to his chest. “I don’t know.”
“And therein lies the root of our problem.” He dropped his arms.
She shivered.
“You want me to tell you everything without securing my trust. Why should I bare my soul to you? What would you do with the knowledge? Trust me? Or judge me?” He pulled back and stared into chocolate pools of light. Whatever this was between them marked him. He’d never considered telling a woman he dated about his past. The price of admission, Red called it.
“It’s like leaving pieces of your soul around and that’s too damn dangerous to do on a small tip.”