Page 77 of David

“Stop here,” I say as we draw closer to the cafe.

He stops his car in front of the building.

The store windows are beautifully decorated with paper garlands, pumpkins, colorful leaves, fairy lights, and what usually makes a night perfect in the fall––tins of tea and coffee, porcelain cups, boxes of chocolates, and Halloween-themed napkins.

It’s not even the end of September.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Where exactly do you live?”

“A few blocks from here.” I gesture over my shoulder. “In that direction. I’ll be fine. Walking at night helps me clear my head.”

Our eyes meet.

He searches mine.

“You’re not doing it because of me, I hope.”

“No. Of course not.”

I smile.

He has no idea.

If I spend another second with this man, I’ll do something stupid. And as I said before, he is not exactly book boyfriend material.

It’s obvious we want to do something we shouldn’t do, and we just dance around it, torturing ourselves.

He is reserved with me––I’d be as well if I were him.I, too, don’t want to deal with the headache in front of me. But for all it’s worth, a night of sex with him might bring a ray of light to my precarious existence.

On the other hand, our actions could create so many problems I have to think twice about hooking up with him.

People will see us together, interacting, talking, sending non-verbal messages to each other.

They’ll know something going on.

“I’m not doing this because of you,” I say before opening the door and pushing out of my seat.

And once outside, I bend over to have him in my line of sight and press my hand over my neckline so that I don’t flash my boobs.

“Go back. Someone’s waiting for you.”

I slam the door before he has the chance to speak and spin around.A second later, I rush across the street, the rain pelting down.

Tilting my head to protect my eyes, I bolt away while cold water soaks my blouse and drips down my cheeks.

He honks his car horn behind me. Or maybe it’s another driver––I don’t know.

Either way, I only run faster, not looking back.

12

DAVID

Rain flutters around her like a flimsy shroud as she sprints across the street, not glancing back.

Slamming my fist on the horn, I watch her run for her life.

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