Page 55 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

“Come on, Vi, you don't really want to be a teacher, do you?”

My stomach plummeted. He was able to put into words something my brain had just floated around for years. “This has nothing to do with my profession.” I looked out over the open expanse of tall grass and rock, but we were alone at the top of the mountain. “You say I'm yours, but you're going to fuck me and then just leave. Again.” The words were harsh, and not remotely how I felt for him, but I wasn't going to expose myself, my feelings, to him if he was going to walk away.

“I'm definitely going to fuck you, as you call it. Lots more. And you want me to.”

I definitely wanted him to. “And then leave,” I added bitterly.

“Maybe.”

“Then maybe I'm not yours after all.”

20

We began our descent down the mountain in tense silence. I didn't have anything to add to what we'd already covered. It was enough. I knew where I stood. Again.

I went first, leading us down the narrow dirt path, sometimes going slow over sections that were large boulder steps. In one spot, I had to put a hand out to maintain my balance. As I did so at one tricky section, I got stung.

“Shit,” I hissed, swinging my hand back and forth in the hopes of easing the pain. I forgot how sharp and intense a bee stick was.

“What? What's wrong?” Mike, who'd been a few paces behind, asked.

I held my wrist of one hand in the other so I could look at my palm for the stinger. “I got stung.”

Mike was on me in a second, grabbing the wrist of my injured hand so he could see. “Holy shit, Vi. Are you allergic?”

“Well, yeah, isn't everyone?” I asked, wincing when he squeezed my wrist tightly.

I yanked, hoping to get my hand back. “I just need to see if the stinger's still in there.” He hadn't caught on yet that I wasn't panicked.

But he was. He still held my wrist, his head whipping around as if he could find an ER. “Okay. I'm going to carry you down the hill. How's your breathing?”

I looked up at Mike and realized he was completely freaking out.

“Mike,” I said, trying to get his attention.

He took two rock steps down and turned his back on me. “Climb on, Vi.”

I just stared at his back, confused. He wanted to give me a piggy back ride? Oh, God. He was afraid I was going to die on him like his friend from camp. He thought I wasdeathlyallergic to bee stings. My hand might hurt, but I wasn't going into anaphylactic shock.

“Mike,” I pushed on his shoulder.

He darted a quick glance at me. “Hurry, Vi. There isn't time.”

“Mike!” I shouted. He turned around. “I'm not that kind of allergic. I just get a little swelling around the sting. I just take some antihistamine and I'm fine.”

He looked me up and down. His face was pale, he was sweating and his eyes had that wild look. He might be a doctor who could handle any kind of crisis, but put him out into the wilderness with a possible allergic reaction and he was sixteen again.

“Really,” I said, trying to calm him down.

“Let me see.”

I placed hand in his, palm up. He studiously looked at the spot that was red. “Does it still hurt?”

“Well, yeah. But it's okay. Let's just get back to the house and I'll take some medicine.” It was my turn to wait for him to look at me. “I'm going to be fine,” I reassured.

Mike gave a stiff nod. “I'm still carrying you down. Hop on.”

I gave a quick laugh. “That's crazy. You can't carry me down this rocky section. We'll both be in the hospital if you do.”

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