Page 40 of Dare To Live

We eat in silence for a few minutes before I speak again.

“I wasn’t joking about the sex.”

Eli sighs. “I said no.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a stupid idea.”

I frown at him. “We’re both consenting adults. Not kids anymore.”

“All the more reason not to do it.” He chews and swallows.

“We both have pent-up emotions, and this could be the perfect way to vent them.”

“Fucking is therapy now?”

I shake my head and cut into one of my eggs. “Come on, Eli. Don’t you ever wonder if what was between us was just fueled by adrenaline and teenage hormones? Was the sex even that good, or have we built it up in our heads?”

“One joint has turned you into a raging nymphomaniac. I forgot about that quirky little side effect.” He keeps his eyes down, refusing to make eye contact with me.

“No! It just made me see things clearly. Neither of us has moved on. Not completely.”

One corner of his mouth curls up. “From what you told me, you’ve moved on just fine.”

I study his face. “Stop hiding behind your anger like it’s a shield. Do you want fucking closure, or do you want to continue like this until you die out here, a lonely, bitter, old man?”

Movements precise, he puts his fork down, and wipes his mouth with the napkin beside his plate. “No, Arabella. I don’t want closure, by fucking or otherwise.”

“I’m not an eighteen-year-old virgin anymore. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman asking you to fuck me.”

“And I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man telling you no.”

“At least give me a reason.”

Tongue flicking out to play with his lip ring, he pins me with a steady, intense green-eyed gaze. “Because you don’t want me to fuck you, not really.” He doesn’t smile. “You just want to relive the past. Maybe get another taste of the excitement of sneaking out to do something taboo.”

I point my fork at him. “Or I think closure would be a healthy choice for both of us.”

He tips his head, studying me. “If we did fuck … and I’m not saying I agree ... It wouldn’t be sweet or gentle. I wouldn’t have to pretend to fuck you like I hate you, Arabella.” He pushes to his feet and leans across the table. “Because I do. I do fucking hate you. There would be no pleasure in it. I’d just be using you to get off.”

I should be scared, and a tiny part of me is, but I can’t deny the insidious thread of excitement that coils through me. I tip my head up and meet his eyes.

“I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“Really?” He hikes an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Hate sex.” His gaze fastens on my mouth as my tongue sweeps nervously over my lips.

I nod. “We’ve been there before.”

“Not like this. I’m not a boy anymore.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Are we finally getting to the real reason you came out here?” The question is silky.

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