Page 36 of Fight Or Flight

“Who said anything about taking turns?” I joke.

“It’s not fair if you’re the one asking all the questions.”

“You still didn’t answer mine.”

“And you still haven’t given me a chance to ask mine.”

“Fine, go. But we’re coming back to this.”

She leans back and crosses her arms against her chest. A small smirk toys at her lips as she cocks her head to the side.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend either,” she quips.

It’s the first time she’s really made any attempt at a joke, and the smile on my face is instant. I know it’s a long way off and so much is going to happen to her in the next few weeks, but I can’t wait to make her laugh. I want to see her smile on a regular basis. I want to look into her eyes and see humor, not grief.

She was right the other night when she called me a fucking poet. That Shakespeare dude hasn’t got a thing on me. I guess this is what happens when you find a girl you really like. You lose your mind and become a romantic.

Her eyes meet mine through the fringe of her lashes.

“No boyfriend,” she whispers.

“That’s probably a good thing.”

“Why is that?”

Because it saves me the trouble of making you forget him.

By some miracle of God, I have enough sense not to say that out loud. Instead, I go with a more generic response.

“Long distance relationships seem like a lot of work.”

She lets that play around in her head for a moment.

“But if it’s love is it really work?”

“Ah, so you’re a romantic too.” I wink so she knows I’m teasing. “I, myself, am more of a realist.”

Or at least I was until she dropped into my life. Now, I don’t know what I am, but it sounds good and Brooklyn seems to buy it.

“If my mom was here, she’d say that’s because you haven’t been bitten by the love bug.”

“The love bug, huh?” I ask, mildly amused. “Tell me more.”

She giggles, and it’s confirmed.

I want to make her happy.

I want to make her laugh.

I want to own all her smiles.

Every last one.

Houston, we have a fucking problem.

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