Chapter 4
Go on a date with Scandinavian Hottie
Get dumped by Scandinavian Hottie
It’s two and I’m way early but it’s been years since I’ve been on a date. And those dates I went on with Matias were silly, child-like social events between middle school kids. Giggling and gossiping, a quick peck on the lips, if you were bold enough. There was no chance for anything more than kissing.
Fact is, I’ve never been on a real date. Never gotten to experience the excitement of wondering how far I’ll go. Second base? Third? If we’ll go back to his place or mine. If I even want to go back to his place or mine. Who knows what will happen, and isn’t that the exciting part?
I play with the edge of my scarf. In two days I’ll be twenty. Technically no longer a teen. I should be going to college, thinking about my life and my career and what the future holds. I don’t have college. I don’t have a future. But I do have this. This month of freedom. This silly little date. This maybe one-night-stand. And I’m going to enjoy every moment, even the nervous energy that makes me fidget.
Eagerly, I look around the area, searching for him. The bench I’m sitting on is under a tree near the tower and provides some shade on yet another warm day. A group of giggling school girls in front of me disperse, scurrying to race after their teacher, and that’s when I see him walking toward me.
My heart skips a beat. He hasn’t spotted me yet and I take the time to study him. He’s changed out of his work clothes and is wearing a V-neck tee and jeans. He looks smart, stylish and European. He looks like a model, walks as if he hasn’t a care in the world, as if he knows he’s hot. But he also seems…nice. Do I have a type or what? I could do worse than hot, nice guys.
My hands tighten around my scarf as my pulse flutters. I’m wearing a long t-shirt, leggings, comfortable ankle boots. I actually look decent, thanks to Gabrielle. For once I’ve actually tried and I’m rather happy with the results.
He spots me and smiles that lopsided smile. A pleasant warmth rushes through me. My chest grows tight. I force my fingers to release the death grip on my scarf and stand as he gets closer. Everything that races through me at once is savored…from my worry, to the excitement, to heated attraction. My mind is laser-focused on him, not my illness.
“Hello, Hope.”
He leans in and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me on the lips. I tilt my head back, lowering my lashes, prepared. But he shifts, catching my cheek in a totally European way. The scruff along his jaw brushes my sensitive skin and I shiver with delight. So damn hot.
Would it be rude if I cupped the sides of his face and just molded my mouth to his? That clean male scent swirls around me, catching my clothing and clinging to the fabric. I greedily breathe it in. Hell, I’m desperate and so damn glad the chemicals haven’t destroyed my libido.
“Insta-love,” Gabrielle had joked this morning.
“Hell no,” I had quickly replied. “But insta-lust…hell yes.”
When he leans back his blue eyes are on me, intense and shockingly intimate. I have to say something. We can’t just keep standing here staring at each other, waiting to see who will speak first. “Where should we start?”
He steps closer to get away from a large crowd of tourists, so close his arm presses to mine. Although the group moves on, he doesn’t. “What have you seen?”
Around us there are so many people it should be obnoxious, but I don’t care. Hell, I barely notice the crowds that would usually annoy me. “Just the castle.”
He quirks a brow. “Ah, well then, we’ll start here.” He spreads his arms wide. “This is the Latin district. One of the oldest sections of the city. It’s also where the university is located.”
I glance dutifully around the area, taking in the buildings, the narrow, cobbled streets, but I’d rather study him. “The university where you go?”
“Yes. Been there a year for graduate school.”
So, he’s around twenty-three? We start walking around the tower. I’ve already looked up the university online and know you have to be pretty smart to get accepted. I wonder what he’s studying, but don’t want to ask. Asking questions about college would lead to him asking questions about whether I’m going to college. We need to keep this casual. Flirt. Sleep together. Part ways. Yep, that’s the plan.
“I assume you’re here on holiday?” he asks.
We move down the street, walking around the small block that makes up the tower. “Yes. Two weeks. Then a week in Norway, and a week in Sweden.”
“Norway. My home country,” he says, proving Gabrielle was right, and is a master at accents. “You’ll love it. It’s beautiful. Where are you going?”
“Not sure yet. I’m supposed to decide this week and book a place to stay.”
“I’d be happy to help.”
Does he mean now, or at a later date…another date? Does he want to see me again? Ugh, I’m acting like I’m thirteen with my first crush. “Thanks.” We fall into a brief companionable silence as we move around a small grassy area at the back of the church. “So, how did you end up here?”
“My dad lives in Copenhagen. My mom lives in Stavanger, Norway. In fact, I’ll be headed back home in a few weeks. Are you in school?”
And there is the question I’ve been dreading. I hesitate. I know I need to answer yes. How do I explain that not only am I not in college, but I also don’t work? Nothing like coming off as a complete loser, mooching off her parents. “Took a year off.”
Not a lie.
“Nineteen then?”
“Twenty in two days.” God. Twenty sounds so old to have accomplished so little. I shake off that depressing realization. “You?”
He pauses. “Two days? We’ll have to do something about that.” Before I can ask his meaning, or have enough time to panic, he continues. “I just turned twenty-three.”
Twenty-three. Will I reach that age? If I’m lucky. I wonder what his life will be like five years from now when I’m gone. Will he be married? Have a job? Will he remember me? I shove the thoughts aside. I’m a tiny blimp in his life. Someone he met, hung out with a few days when he was young, never to be seen or heard from again. I’ll be a mystery woman. Part of me likes the idea that he’ll never see my imperfections, never get tired of me.
“What’s your major?”
“Political science, for now,” he says. “You? What will you study?”
I’ve never thought about it. But of course I know what I would study if I could go to college. “Photography, or maybe historical preservation. I love old buildings.”
“Nothing modern?”
We turn and continue down the other side of the church, where there’s a large tree and a statue of some sort. I don’t miss the female tourists my age who glance his way. I want to tell them to find their own Scandinavian Hottie, but manage to keep my mouth shut.
“I appreciate modern art. I love that Denmark combines the two. Actually, my mom does sculpture.” I shrug. “But I like history. I like knowing that when we’re gone, those buildings still remain. Artifacts from hundreds of years ago, even cave paintings from thousands of years ago. An impression of our lives in stone and wood.”
He looks up at the row homes that line the streets as if seeing them for the first time through my eyes. It makes me happy to know I might have opened his mind, taught him something.
“I do love this city and its history.”
I smile. “Me too.”
Suddenly we’re back at the front of the building where there’s a big arched doorway, covered in carved cherubs my sister would find completely freaky. Inside, I can see a booth where you pay for tickets, and a brick floor that curls up and disappears around a corner.
“Here we are.” We pause at the entrance. “Have you been up to see the view?”
I tilt my head back. It’s not that high, but I’m not that strong either. Walking for the last two days is starting to take its toll. Mom’s voice is in my head, warning me not to overdo it. I ignore her. I’m in Denmark. I will regret nothing.
“If you’re going to start anywhere, start with a view.” I nod, ignoring the tsking sound of the wind. “Okay. Let’s go.”
We move into the building and pay.
“I haven’t been up here in years,” he says.
There are no stairs. The walls are white, the ground a cobbled stone that twists up the tower. I can hear the echo of voices as we start up the spiral incline. A few kids come running down, barely missing us in their excitement. They’re full of an energy I vaguely remember.
I stumble back into Christian to get out of their way. His hands rest on my waist, and an electric current zips through my body making it hard to breathe. He’s hot and strong at my back. I should move. Need to move. I stay for one moment longer than is respectable, and his fingers flex ever so slightly against my waist. Why does this feel so damn right?
His sweet breath brushes my temple, stirring my hair. “You okay?”
My heart pounds madly against my ribcage. What would I do if he pressed his lips to the side of my neck? An ache stirs low in the pit of my belly, giving me my answer. I’d do nothing other than welcome that kiss.
Attraction, plain and simple. Yes, I’ve been attracted to guys before, but in an aloof, impersonal way, knowing I would never pursue a relationship. This is different. I have less than two weeks to make it clear to Christian that I want him. I want the guy stirring all kinds of crazy emotions within me. “Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry.”
He releases me.
I have to resist the urge to move back into his arms. There’s a part of me that wonders if I should just be blunt and ask him if he wants to have a one-night stand. That would be the easiest thing to do. No complications. No emotions. Utter honesty.
But I’m too much of an American puritan to be so blunt. I start up the incline, determined to act normal. The fact is, I’m enjoying the sexual tension, the flirting, the unknown. “Do you have siblings?”
He moves with a graceful ease, his long legs eating up the brick ground. The muscles under his jeans stretch the thick material. This is a casual stroll in the park for him, while I feel as if I’m running a 5K. “No. Just me. You?”
“A younger sister.” This at least, is the truth. “She’s fourteen.”
He tucks his hands in his jean pockets. God, I love his hands. Large, strong, sinewy and elegant all at once. “Your parents let you travel alone, like a graduation present?”
“No, not alone.” I lie because even though his hotness is muddling my mind, I’ve retained a tiny bit of common sense. I don’t know him, and don’t want him to think I’m some vulnerable girl, ripe for taking advantage of. “My cousin will be here soon. And I’m staying with Gabrielle, the woman you met.”
“Right.”
He continues up the incline, talking about the area, but I barely hear because suddenly the ground shifts, the world wobbling off its axis. The loud buzz that rings in my ears like a warning bell is all too familiar.
No. No. No! Not now!
I brace my hand against the wall, waiting for the dizziness to pass, praying it goes away before he notices. Oblivious, Christian continues on. Slowly, ever so slowly, the world starts to refocus. A few more moments and I’ll be back to normal. I hope.
Too late.
Christian pauses and glances back at me. I don’t miss the concern that crosses his features. “Still have jetlag?”
Because I’m young, I’m supposed to be in shape. Full of energy. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me now, spotting me standing with my hand braced against the wall. Someone pale, weak? Damn it all, I don’t want him to see me that way. “I just need to rest. Just a second.”
Curiosity flashes across his blue eyes. He knows something is wrong. Something is…off. But he’s too polite, or Scandinavian, to say it. I wish I could ignore the sensations and push on, but my knees grow weak and I’m forced to sit on the window ledge.
“Just got over a bad case of flu not too long ago,” I explain. Not a complete lie. I had the flu a couple months ago and ended up in the E.R. “Still recovering.”
The concern that softens his gaze warms and frustrates me. It’s not like I want to sleep with a totally heartless jackass, but at the same time, I wish he wouldn’t look at me like I’m a fragile weakling. If I tell him the truth, I’ll probably never see him again. Or worse, he’ll start treating me like an invalid…taking a playbook from Matias. We’ve just met. He shouldn’t have to deal with my issues. For now, I just want to be a normal girl flirting with a guy.
“Alright,” he says. “No problem. We can take it slow.”
I’m not sure if he means our relationship or the hike up this tower. Either way I’m annoyed. I don’t have time to take it slow. My mortal clock is ticking. I hate this. Hate that my body is so pathetic. That it betrays me so often. Hate that my mind is ready to jump into the deep end of life, enjoy the surprises and excitement of the world, but my body can’t keep up. He sits on the ledge beside me. Outside the small window I can see the rooftops of the row houses. Orange clay tiles, peaks, chimneys, a few spires.
I’m fighting a surge of depression I haven’t felt in a long while, and it surprises me more than it worries me. How can I be depressed here, now? “This city is beautiful.”
He’s watching me as I look outside. Probably trying to understand. Are all American girls this weird? Wonders if I’m worth the trouble. Believe me, Buddy, I’m not.
“It is beautiful,” he agrees.
He shifts. Our fingertips touch and his thigh presses to mine. I stiffen, completely aware, but he doesn’t seem to notice, nor does he pull away. Is he testing the waters? Or is it completely innocent? A cool breeze sweeps in through the open window. It seems to be urging me on. Reminding me that my time is limited.
Hurry, it whispers.
“Ready?” I stand and start to go before my weakened body catches up with me again.
In my haste, my toe hits one of the cobbled stones. I lunge forward, knowing I’m going to hit the ground hard and realizing there’s nothing I can do to prevent it from happening. Firm fingers grip my arm and spin me around, jerking me into a hard chest. Damn my balance. But even as I’m cursing the universe I realize that he’s holding me.
Look up, look up and kiss him, the wind whispers through the open window.
“You alright?” Christian asks.
“Yeah.” I flush as I tilt my head back and meet his gaze. It feels so damn good to be held. It’s so damn good to feel again. And I sure as hell am feeling. Feeling heat. Feeling chills. Feeling a thrumming ache between my thighs that I’ve never felt so strongly before. I even feel his heart, strong and sure, beating against my chest. It’s romantic. It’s perfect. I don’t want it to end. It has to end. “I’m fine.”
“You know, if you wanted me to touch you, you could have just asked. This falling into my arms thing is a bit much.”
He’s joking, but I’m tired and I can’t dredge up the strength to laugh. Or maybe I’m just tired of lying. I don’t want to lie. I hate lying and I’ve had to do it much too often. “I was sick as a child. I had hearing loss so my balance isn’t great.”
His amusement fades and I instantly regret being so blunt. Nothing like talking about sick children to ruin the romance. “You’re okay now?”
“Yeah,” I say a little too quickly. Another lie, but after today, I’ll probably never see him again. This date is going downhill real fast. I force a smile. “I’m fine. Just a little hearing loss. It makes my coordination…off.”
“Then I’ll just have to get close when I need to say something.” He lowers his head, his lips at my ear. A shiver races down my spine. “And stay close to catch you if you lose your balance.”
Coming from anyone else, it would sound cheesy. But the warmth of his breath, the energy coming from his body, that accent, all make me melt. Would it be too much to push him into the nearest bathroom and have him now? No. My first time will not be in a freaking restroom.
Determined, I step away from him, putting distance between us. “Tell me about the tower,” I say, mostly to make conversation. Also to keep him talking so he doesn’t question me further about my illness. I don’t miss the amusement in his eyes, as if he knows exactly what I’m up to. I’m so out of my league here.
“Well…” He pauses, his gaze on a small alcove. “Wait. Come here.”
He takes my hand and pulls me into the tiny chamber. So small, we have to duck low to get inside and remain kneeling. I realize with some unease that I’m standing on a glass floor in a tiny room big enough for only two.
A tunnel goes straight through the tower, down…down…down into darkness. Dizzy, I gasp, bracing my hands on his broad shoulders. Other visitors are moving up and down the incline but I barely notice them, and most of them don’t notice us.
He’s holding me close. So close I can feel the heat from his body. Slowly, I tilt my head back and meet his gaze. And as I tilt my head back he lowers his. Firm lips brush mine. A quick, sweet kiss that leaves me wondering if I dreamt the pressure of his mouth. He pulls back just enough so that his warm breath is the only thing between us.
And just as I’m thinking about taking the lead because Scandinavian guys are too polite, he leans forward again. This kiss is harder, his mouth molding to mine with a pressure that sends shivers dancing down my spine. And this time his hand slides around my shoulders, cupping the back of my head as he deepens the kiss and holds me captive.
The heat that rushes through me is ruthless. Burning. My very own sexual awakening. It’s just a quick stroke of his velvet tongue, a promise of what’s to come, and then he’s pulling back, leaving me bemused and flustered.
He smiles that lop-sided smile, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. “Come on.”
Holy hell. I take in a deep breath, attempting to calm my racing heart, then follow him out of the small room. We continue up the incline as if nothing has happened. As if I’m not panting beside him. As if he didn’t just kiss me in a dark alcove while people walked nearby. He takes my hand in his, a firm grip that surprises and delights me.
“See, you just need something to occupy your mind, so you don’t focus on the dizziness.”
I slide him a glance. “So you’re saying anytime I feel dizzy, I should kiss someone?”
“Exactly.” He arches a brow. “Whoever happens to be closest.”
“Well, that could land me in jail quickly, but at least I’ll have a valid excuse.”
My lips tingle from his kiss, and I can still taste him. I want more. I want to feel his tongue rub against mine. His hard, heavy body lower over me. Know what it’s like to feel him pressing down on me, inside of me, doing things that you only see on the internet late at night. So sue me…I get bored and curious when I’m up sick alone.
“Did you see the royal jewelry and crowns while at Rosenborg?” he asks.
His question startles me from my X-rated thoughts. Are we seriously talking about jewelry when he just freaking kissed me? Maybe this is how adults act after they’ve kissed. Like… it’s no big deal. I wouldn’t know. Maybe I’m still in middle school when it comes to sex and relationships. And here I was mocking Beth’s naiveté.
“I did see them.” After he’d caught me in the room of mirrors I’d fled toward the basement on my way out. I hadn’t stayed long. I’d been too tired and too embarrassed to enjoy much of anything that day. How strange that things have turned around so quickly.
“And were you impressed?”
I weigh my words carefully. “Some were pretty. I’m sure to a geologist the jewels would be impressive. And yes, the nature of it all was amazing. To think that the earth can produce such gems, but…”
We pause as we reach a set of narrow stairs that head up to the viewing platform. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. It’s a strange reminder that I’m holding hands with a guy I just met. “But what?”
I shrug, not wanting to offend him or sound condescending. “I don’t know. There isn’t exactly anything artistic about big chunks of stone, is there?”
He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Most women and men are impressed.”
“I prefer things that are more detailed,” I try to explain. “Something I know the artist put her heart and soul into. Not something done just to impress.”
He braces his hand against the wall, leaning closer to me. I’m trapped between him and the staircase. I don’t miss the way his biceps flex, stretching the sleeves of his t-shirt. Damn, he’s fit. “So you’d prefer something for ten kroner that is delicate, made by an artist on the street, rather than a crown worth millions?”
I grin. “Well, don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t pass up a million dollars. But yes, I prefer something smaller. More delicate. Less…showy.”
He’s looking at me as if he can’t quite figure me out. “You are different.”
I release a huff of air, something between a snort and a laugh. Is that a compliment? I’m not sure, and not positive I want to know. “My mom’s an artist. I just know what’s valuable. What’s important. It’s not how much something is worth, it’s how much love and attention someone puts into it.”
He doesn’t speak, but he looks thoughtful again. He’s trying to understand me. To assess my sincerity. It makes me uneasy. I clear my throat and straighten away from him. “Ready?”
He nods. I don’t wait, but start up the narrow set of stairs that curl up to the rooftop. I don’t dare look down to see if he follows, and send my balance into a tailspin. Besides, I can feel him behind me, the strength of his body, the heat. And I know if I fall, he’ll catch me. It’s oddly reassuring.
He’s nice. He’s a gentlemen. He’s smart. All these thoughts tumble through my mind one by one. But none of that should really matter. This is a one-night stand. Sure, he’s boyfriend material. But not for me. For some other lucky woman. All that matters is if I’m attracted to him. If he’s attracted to me. And if I go by that kiss…things are happening just as I hoped.
We step out onto a platform that goes around the outside of the tower, but before I can get a look, he slides his arm around my waist, stopping me. I freeze, my back pressed to his chest. I can’t see him, but I feel every muscle in his hard body. “You’re saying if a man gave you a five carat diamond necklace you wouldn’t be impressed?”
I release a nervous laugh. Why does this bother him so much? Maybe he’s had a bad experience with women wanting him for his money. Is he wealthy? Or maybe he doesn’t have much cash, that’s why he works. “No. I’m not a fan of big jewelry.”
He turns me slowly so I’m cushioned against his body and we’re staring into each other’s eyes. It’s as if he’s trying to read the truth in my gaze. I have a handful of years left if I’m lucky. Why would I care about a damn five carat diamond?
The only thing I care about in this moment is him. The feel of his hand pressed possessively against my lower back, the way he looks at me as if I’m a mystery he wants to solve, and his wonderful, intoxicating scent.
“Excuse me,” someone says.
He tears his gaze from me. His hand slides away. We shift to the side as the guy passes by. The moment is broken. I turn and look at the landscape. Copenhagen is spread out before us. Rooftops. Church spires. Cobbled streets. Christian steps close to me. I’m determined to focus on the view. The ocean in the distance. Windmills close to shore. Even the cruise ships.
Yes, it’s beautiful, but damn if my attention doesn’t keep going back to him. I’m completely aware of his body behind me. The warmth and strength of him. His amazing scent.
“You’re right, this is the perfect place to start.” For a long moment we don’t speak, merely stand there staring out at the city. The breeze has cooled and it whips my hair around my face, tickling my highly sensitive neck. Would his touch feel just as sweet? I shiver just thinking about it. “It’s beautiful.”
“There are higher outlooks, but I like this one. Been here since the university started. For hundreds of years students have climbed this tower.”
For the first time in a long while, I wonder what it would be like to go to college. To have that heady rush of freedom. Probably similar to what I’m feeling here, now, for this short time. But I shut the feelings down, locking them away. I learned long ago there’s no use in wondering what could be. As I’m studying the scenery below, I can feel him studying me.
“That’s where I’m staying.” I point to the building down the road. “Third floor. The one with the pink flowers by the windows.”
He nods. “I live two blocks away with three roommates. We all go to the same school.”
Boldly, I turn to face him, the tall railing at my back. Why did he ask me out? I don’t dare speak the question aloud; I don’t want to hear him say that I’m just so sweet and fragile looking, he couldn’t resist. True story, Matias once said it felt like he was taking care of a porcelain doll. I now hate dolls. He looks at me, studying my features, his own lop-sided smile slowly comes into focus. I love his hair. It’s thick and messy, in a completely fashionable way.
“There’s something very interesting about you. Something I can’t quite put my finger on,” he says.
My smile is falling, and it takes superhuman strength to keep my lips lifted. Here it is. Please, please don’t say I’m fragile. That I look like a doll. “What’s that?”
“Strength,” he says, shocking me. “You radiate this calm strength that makes you seem older than what you are. It’s like…you know something the rest of us don’t.”
I’m stunned. No one has ever said I radiate strength. They’ve looked at me with worry in their gaze, they’ve clucked their tongue in dismay, even tucked me into bed like I’m a toddler. But I am strong, damn it all. I’m the strongest person I know. How funny that it took a stranger to see the truth.
I slide a loose lock of hair behind my ear, at a loss as to how to respond. “Well, I’m not sharing any secrets to life, if that’s what you’re after. I’m saving that for my book.”
“No.” He laughs and wraps his arm around my waist. “I’m not after the secrets of life. I’m just… after you. That’s all.”
Damn, he’s good. I flush with pleasure and have to bite my lip to keep from giggling. God, I am a middle school child stuck in a nineteen year old’s body.
He reaches up and holds onto the bars of the fence behind us, trapping me between his arms. “Am I too blunt?”
“No. I like honesty.”
“Good.” He lets go of the fence and we walk around the perimeter of the tower like we’re a couple out site-seeing. We don’t speak, but I realize we don’t need to. There’s a natural ease between us that surprises, as much as it delights me. It’s as if I’ve known him for a long while. Hopefully it will make things more comfortable when we sleep together.
When we head back toward the narrow, spiral stairs, I hesitate, panicking for a moment. Just looking down makes me dizzy. Can I make it? Or will I fall on my face and ruin his image of me as a strong woman?
“I’ll go first,” he says. “Just hold onto the railing with one hand, and press the other to my back.”
He doesn’t wait for praise. He helps me because he’s probably the sort of guy who instinctively takes care of others. He steps down first. Having him in front eases the tension winding through me. I grip the railing with one hand and place my other on his strong back. He’s warm and muscular under my touch.
We start down the steps. “Ready for the next stop?”
“Where would that be?” I ask, trying to concentrate on the steps. The world below me is wavering in and out of focus, but he’s steady and sure under my hand. He’s the sort of person you can rely on. What if he’s not the sort of guy who has one-night stands?
“I was thinking…ice cream.”
I cringe. “I hate ice cream.”
He laughs, the sound echoing against the walls. “Really?” He turns as he makes it to the ground. Before I can prepare myself, he grips my waist, lifting me and bringing me to the floor as if I weigh nothing. “Who doesn’t like ice cream?”
I flush, realizing I sound like a total downer. I might as well say I hate puppies, kittens and rainbows. “Milk doesn’t agree with me.”
Yes, let’s make it seem like I have digestive issues, because that’s completely romantic. But I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t tell him that I was fed so many popsicles and ice cream while sick, that just the thought of them makes my stomach churn. Everyone likes ice-cream. You’d have to be a complete sociopath to not like ice-cream.
He takes my hand. “Alright…coffee and pastries then?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I prefer tea, but that might be pushing it. We start down the twisting incline. “Sounds good. Just nothing with almonds.”
“Exactly.” He squeezes my hand. “And nothing with milk.”
We move by that little room where he kissed me. I can’t help but wonder if tonight will lead to another check off my bucket list. And then what? Say goodbye, move on? I don’t make connections, I don’t bond with people easily. There’s no reason to bond when I’ll be gone soon. But the thought of never seeing him again makes me oddly sad. “We are pathetic.”
“Indeed.”
We step out into the warm sun. The tourists are thick but it doesn’t matter because I made it to the top. I made it, and I’m still alive. “Do you have a café in mind?”
But he’s not looking at me. He’s pulled his phone out of his pocket. He’s gotten a call. I see the photo of a gorgeous blond on the screen right before he shoves it back into his pocket. A cold wash of reality blankets me. I’m not exactly experienced in the dating department, but I’m also not naïve. We’ve just met. He’s twenty-three and hot. Of course he’s dating other women.
“This way,” he says, leading me down a road. But things have changed. He’s not smiling anymore. His gaze isn’t on me, but on some point in the distance, as if his mind is preoccupied. I feel as if this date has just taken a nosedive off the tower, and I’m not sure how to fix it.
“So,” I say almost desperately, trying to keep the momentum going. “What other sites do I need to see?”
“Well, there’s…” He pauses and pulls out his phone again. I don’t miss the way his lips tighten. He lets go of my hand. I feel like a wall has just been built between us. “Sorry.”
This time it’s a text. I’m not sure whether to be annoyed, frustrated or just depressed. Damn this woman! Who the hell is she? “Everything okay?”
Hello, trying to get laid here, I want to snap.
“I’m so sorry,” he stuffs his phone into his back pocket. “But I have a family issue. I have to go.”
Family my ass. I’m not surprised when he doesn’t meet my gaze, because I’m pretty sure he’s lying. My stomach sinks. I can handle him dating other women. I can’t handle being dumped in the middle of our date for one of those women. “Oh, okay.”
He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. Just a brush of his lips. A sweep of his scent. But it’s a friendly kiss. Something European. He’s in a rush to leave. “You’re okay getting home?”
I nod, still confused by the turn of events.
“Good. Have a great trip.”
And with that, he’s gone, weaving his way through the crowds. Stunned, I watch him until he turns a corner and disappears. “Have a great trip? Are you freaking kidding me?”
I’m not sure if I want to cry or laugh. Not have a great day, or I’ll see you later. Have a great trip…as in it was nice knowing you. And I realize in that moment that I’ll probably never see the bastard again.
“Was I just dumped?” I mutter. “But…we weren’t even dating.”