Page 26 of Forever We Fall

“I’d rather not talk around other people,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, but it makes things easier.” His stunning brow furrows with a wince. “It might be awkward for you to be seen with me.”

“You think I give a fuck about what other people think?”

Besides, having this secret between us, makes it—our relationship—special.

He makes a noise. It’s not a laugh, but it’s the closest thing I’ve heard him make to one. It lights me up like a neon sign.

“No, I don’t suppose you do.”

“Damn right.” I lead us down the stairs like I did all those weeks ago. We walk through the quad and over to the shuttle bus stop, where it drops kids off and scoops them up every hour from nine to three o’clock on Saturdays.

We wait with a few other guys. The oldest of the group gives us a twice-over, but otherwise, the wait and subsequent twenty-minute trip are uneventful. Aside from a few sheep on the road.

Once we reach the stop, the group disperses. Everyone has their agenda for the day. Arlo takes off like he knows exactly where he’s going. It’s the opposite direction of everyone else.

I follow along only a half step behind him as we navigate the cobblestone streets of the town. It’s so small that it barely qualifies as one. I think it’s technically a village and not a town. There isn’t a proper city for fifty kilometers. London is even farther away. It’s worlds away from what I’m used to. Surprisingly, I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would. I guessit’s because of the guy next to me. It’s certainly not the sheep shit I have to dodge in the middle of the street.

He peels off the main thoroughfare, slips down a narrow alley, and then stops in front of a door that used to be white. Once upon a time, at the dawn of time.

When he reaches for the black knob, I hiss. “Are you looking to buy a computer or drugs?”

His wide shoulders wheel on me. His brows and mouth are screwed up tight. “I don’t do drugs. Never have. Never will.”

“Okay, and you think you’re going to find a computer in there?” I point at the tattered door.

“I know I will.” He turns back to the door.

“Okay. If someone offers me a dime bag for a BJ, I’m kicking their ass.”

He puts his hand on the knob but doesn’t turn it. Instead, he looks back over his shoulder at me. “Where’d you grow up that people are offering you drugs for sexual favors?”

“London.” I shrug. “No one has made the offer. I’m just saying, be prepared to run.”

“Don’t worry, Hota. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He winks and opens the door.

I’m too stunned to follow. Or maybe I’ve turned into a gooey marshmallow, stuck to the threshold. He called me by my name. He said he’d protect me.

Even if in jest, it’s a lot to process.

He holds the door open and waves me in. Behind him, I see shelves filled with boxes containing cords, mice, keyboards, adapters, modems, and routers. There are a few desktop models and a few laptops on display.

I step inside, and he closes the door behind me. He’s standing close. I have to shake myself to meet his gaze.

“Not so bad, huh?”

“I was born in Japan.” I don’t know why I blurt it, but it’s out in the air now. There’s no recalling it.

Then to my utter amazement, the corners of his harsh mouth turn up and the balls of his sharp cheeks contract in an almost smile. It’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen. Just like that cupid’s arrow pierces my rotten heart, and I’m completely fucked.

I’ve never seen Hota so out of sorts. It’s like he’s nervous or something. The notion that he could be anything other than self-assured is endearing.

“Do you speak Japanese?” I ask, fighting a smile for the first time in too long. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. I like that he’s sharing with me.

He showed me his vulnerability last night. A little of it. Not nearly as much as I showed. Still, it’s nice to be on an equal footing with him.

“Watashi wa nihongo o hanashimasu.”

“Wow!” I cradle my forehead. “That sounds a lot harder to speak than English or Spanish.”

---