Don't Hold Back (Love Hurts 4)

“That’s something I’ve never heard before from a woman,” I quip.

Her face reddens. She’s way too easy to mess with.

“Relax, we’re even.” I push the burger across the table to her. “Want it?”

“Well I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” She carefully unwraps it, splitting it in half. “How about we share?”

I lean over and take half. Our fingers touch and she jumps back. She glances up at me as if to gauge my reaction, so I don’t react. Instead I shove the whole half into my mouth. It’s verging on cold, but a burger is a burger, in any condition. Kind of like pizza. It’s just as good the next day, cold, right out of the fridge.

“So,” I comment, following up my burger with a swig of whiskey, “from jumping into a river to the trip of a lifetime, huh?”

“When did you realise it was me?” she asks, her voice quiet. She plays with the bun in her hands, breaking it into tiny pieces. She’s investing way too much energy in deconstructing it to not be affected by seeing me here. I can’t figure out if that’s a good or bad thing.

“Honestly?” I say. “When you walked in here. I h

ad an inkling when I read your ad, and it grew stronger when your sister called me, but I didn’t know for sure until I saw you. How about you?”

“When I saw your Facebook photo.”

“You Facebook stalked me?” I say with interest.

She blushes again and I laugh.

“It’s cool. I’m sure you’re not the first.”

“My sister Facebook stalked you,” she replies, ignoring my chuckles, her tone indignant. “I was simply there when she did.”

“Uh huh,” I tease.

“So, is leaving on Sunday going to be a problem for you? What about work, or school, or whatever it is that you do? And do you have a passport?” she asks, diverting the conversation.

“I’m good.” I shrug. “My job is casual, so no real notice required.” I’ve been lying to the people closest to me for months, so I don’t blink an eye lying to her. With university a no-go now, and no job to speak of, the only thing close to a commitment I have is the one I’m trying to escape from: gambling.

“What do you do?” she asks, interested. She pops a piece of the burger bun into her mouth.

“I work in investments,” I lie, though it’s not a huge jump from the truth. Gambling is a form of investing, right? And I never said I was good at my job. “So what made you reply to my email?” I ask. I’m genuinely interested, because as much as her mother said the sister would take care of it, I get the feeling nobody makes this girl do anything she doesn’t want to do. “I’m sure it wasn’t just to apologize for flaking on me?”

“I never thanked you properly for what you did.”

The sadness in her eyes makes my stomach turn. Am I really going to profit from this girl’s pain? What kind of man does that make me?

One that’s no better than my father.

“I still maintain that it was partly your fault I actually fell in, but what you said afterwards put lots of things in perspective for me. So, thank you for that.”

“No problem,” I murmur. I’ve never been one to accept gratitude easily—probably because it’s something I’m not often subjected to. I quickly change the subject, like I do whenever conversations become about me. “So what made you decide to do this?”

“Honestly?” She smiles and pushes a strand of hair from her face. “It was something you said. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I should be thankful that I have time to do the things I want to do. Not everyone gets that luxury.”

“I said that?” I grin.

“Something along those lines,” she replies, her smile growing. “You made me realise that just because I have a time limit, it’s not over. That’s why you’re here. That’s why I want you to come with me, because I feel like you get me.” She takes a deep breath, avoiding my eyes. “I feel like I can trust you.”

Shit. I’m already betraying that trust and we haven’t even left yet. I don’t reply, because I don’t know what to say. I glance around and realise that they are starting to close up. “Why did you invite me here tonight?” I ask suddenly. “Why not wait till Saturday, like you originally said?”

“Because I needed to see you. Because I’m too impatient. Because waiting until Saturday on my time is like waiting forever, and because we leave on Sunday.” She pauses, her blue eyes lost in thought. “My cancer is all I think about. Dying is all I think about. I need something to replace those thoughts before I drive myself crazy.” She laughs, her forehead creased in frustration. “Sorry, I feel like I’m not explaining myself very well.”

“You are,” I cut in softly. I know exactly what she’s feeling because I feel it too, on a much lesser level. “You need a distraction from real life.”