Page 27 of The Last Sunrise

“Can I at least drop you off at your hotel? Then I’ll leave you alone,” he says. I start walking again.

“No. I don’t want or need you to take me anywhere. You made it abundantly clear that you don’t like me, so why would I get on your stupid bike and wear that stupid helmet for a three-minute ride that will keep me up all night?”

I hear him laugh and I give him a death stare, trying with all my might to ignore that he’s shirtless. His shirt is in my hands.

“So, you’ll be up all night thinking about me?”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.”

I start to wonder why I’m lying to this random guy who I almost kissed just so I don’t feel even more embarrassed, but what’s the point of caring what he thinks of me? We’re on a quiet part of the street and it’s not likely that anyone around will understand me anyway. My ego loses and honesty wins.

“You know what, yeah, I will be up all night thinking about you. It will drive me nuts wondering why you are so hot and cold, why you almost kissed me and then rejected me. Why you apparently sleep with every woman on the island except me. It’s embarrassing, and you’re getting under my skin and I don’t know why. I’m trying really hard to act like I don’t give a shit what you think about me or if you think I’m pathetic, blah, blah, blah. That’s how my brain works, and it does bother me that you humiliated me and made me feel awful about myself.”

The grip on his handlebars slips and the bike tilts to the side, nearly falling. Apparently, he’s not used to women being honest to his face. I’m honored to be the first and hope I’m not the last.

“What? Nothing to say now? You shouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want an answer,” I snap in his silence.

He looks at me, his eyes touching mine and not moving. As he begins, the tone of his voice is so strained, like the words are being slowly ripped out of his chest and off his tongue.

“I’m sorry. Genuinely. I don’t know why I got so mad and left. I guess being called out didn’t feel great, and I was embarrassed, too, that you think I’m some asshole who fucks every woman I meet. I don’t want you to think that. I want you to… I guess I wanted you to get to know me, and I thought I was being respectful by not hooking up with you on a public beach.”

“You pretended to be into me and then literally left me there.”

“I know that was immature of me. But I was not pretending to be into you. I’m very into you and I think that’s why I acted like that. It’s not an excuse, but I can’t stand the idea of making you upset or feel bad about yourself.”

I wasn’t expecting an honest reaction from him, and he’s apologized, so what’s left to say? Maybe more honesty…

“Well, I appreciate your apology and I’m glad you didn’t mean to make me feel like shit. But it still did.”

“Are you going to ignore that I said I’m into you?”

I nod, glancing at a woman and her child walking by. The toddler is holding a green balloon in one hand and the woman’s hand in the other. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a child out so late, but the culture seems to be so different here, starting dinner after nine, when I’m usually already drowsy from my meds, and staying out until midnight on a casual work night.

“Are you not into me?” Julián presses.

Okay… enough honesty for one night. It’s overwhelming and I’ve never had someone flat-out ask me, while making eye contact, if I like them or not.

“I think you are.” He pushes again.

“Does it matter? We barely know each other and look how rocky it’s already been. Plus, I thought you hated tourists.”

“I don’thatetourists. I hate rich people who think they rule the world. And yes, I’m aware that they do, but I hate it with every fiber of my being. I hate that spoiled rich people come here and trash our land and drive up the prices and eliminate the working class. But you with your reusable water bottle…” He homes in on me. “Something about you… you’re not like that. Spoiled, yes. But you’re different, I can tell, or you wouldn’t be driving me so crazy.”

“I’m different?” I laugh at how bold he is at making assumptions and speaking his mind. “I’m not like other girls? I’m not the kind of woman who wants to be told I’m not like other girls. I want to be like them, and I’m so sick of men pitting us against each other by—”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down, Jeanne Deroin. I never said anything about other women. I said tourists. Don’t make me out to be a scumbag.”

Embarrassment rolls through me. He’s right, again. And I jumped to conclusions, again.

“Whatever. And yes, I do know who that is. I’m not as dumb as you think.” I roll my eyes, thanking my mom for making me learn about many, many influential women who shaped feminism in history. Him knowing about her is impressive, but I’ve already given him enough of an ego boost by embarrassing myself.

“I never said you were stupid. In fact, I said the opposite. Do you always jump to conclusions?”

“Do you always have to have the last word?”

“Yes,” he admits with a cocky shrug.

“You’re annoying, you know that?”

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