Page 10 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
While Daniel caught up with some friends in the bar, I went outside for a smoke. The look of protest he shot me would have stopped a better man. I promised to change after the wedding, and I would. I just couldn’t bring myself to think about quitting then.
My buzz gave me a pleasantly swimmy head and a full belly.
I lit up a smoke.
I knew my lifestyle wouldn’t help me with my problems, but lately I’d lost my way. When that happened, I never turned around to go back the way I’d come, or asked for directions, or did anything rational like look at a map. I always kept going forward at full speed, certain I’d find where I was going sooner or later. Nobody but me had to know how lost I felt.
Of course I compounded my misery by checking my phone for messages.
I had close to a hundred emails from different people and news organizations. Our negotiations with regard to getting vital shipping manifests were breaking down in one region of the world while it looked like local authorities weren’t making any headway in securing the release of nine trafficked schoolgirls in another. On top of that, drone footage of a particularly troubling series of encampments that could only be forced labor camps had suddenly stopped transmitting.
I was only a conduit, really. I received and collated data from people who risked their lives to document the work of traffickers and the suffering of their victims. Yet I felt the responsibility keenly. It made me sick to envision failure.
I held my cigarette with shaking fingers and shoved the pack into the pocket of my jacket.
“I thought I saw you out here.” Epic, my mysterious server, climbed onto the wall separating the boardwalk from the sand and slid beside me. “Are you going to light your hair on fire again?”
“God, I hope not.” I received another email but didn’t open it.
“You want to tell me why you look like your dog just died?”
“My dog just died.”
He reacted with an exaggerated expression—part shock, part horror. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m kidding. Just wanted to see what you’d do if you were right.”
“That’s not okay!” He punched my arm lightly. “Letting me think a dog died.”
I blew smoke away from him. “No dogs were harmed in the making of this moment.”
“You’re funny.” He didn’t sound like he meant that.
“I’m sorry. Bad news from work.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “It’s all bad news, actually. I don’t know why I’m still surprised.”
“What do you do?”
“Dog catcher.” I smirked at him. “Too soon?”
He glared at me. “Just say it’s private if you don’t want to tell me.”
“It’s fine. I work for an international nongovernmental organization called StolenLives.”
“A nonprofit?”
“Exactly.”
“What’s your area?”
“Prevention of human trafficking.”
“Wow.” His brows furrowed as he took my cigarette, hit it, and gave it back. “Tough stuff.”
“Yeah. Now, can I ask you something?”
