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I agree without meaning it. My heart is battling with my mouth, pulsing in my chest, trying to figure out what it feels and what it wants to say. I choke out “What’s for lunch?” because that’s not as terrifying as everything else trying to burst out of me.
“I have an idea,” says Olivia with a grin.
“Now who’s being a tease?” I say, putting my hands on my hips as I grind to a halt.
She spins to face me, the skirt of her dress flaring, and winks in a way that sends shivers down my spine. “You just can’t handle surprise.”
“You can’t bear to give me a straight answer on anything.”
She shrugs, closing her eyes as she smiles, the wind catching her hair again and blowing it into her face so she has to tuck it behind her ear. “I’ve always been straight with you. Your memory sucks.”
Maybe it does. Maybe I was grumpier in that first week than I remember. Maybe I did hate her back then. I was wrong for it. I should have enjoyed myself more when she dragged me around the city. I should have made the most of every moment. Again, my heart and tongue battle, a vicious war that freezes me in place, making me feel lost.
What I want to say is, “I love you.”
What I actually say is absolutely nothing.
“Are you hungry?” Olivia asks, narrowing her eyes. I wonder what question she really wants to ask me, because I know that look on her now. It’s the look of thinking one thing and saying another.
“Yeah,” I say lamely.
“Come on, then,” she says and grabs my wrist. “This way.”
As she drags me after her towards some back street, her fingerprints burn into me. Even after she lets go, I feel the imprint of her there. I don’t think I’m going to be able to shake it for a long time.
CHAPTER 21
OLIVIA
I lead us away from the beach path to take him to a little restaurant that’s hidden down an alley. It’s one of those places most people wouldn’t even believe exists, but if you do believe it exists, you go there all the time because it’s great. They do the best sushi I’ve ever had and their noodles are to die for.
Miles is resisting me as we turn into the alley, and I turn and frown at him. He was the one who wanted to come out to start with. What’s gotten into him today that’s making him act so strange?
We pause outside the restaurant, and Miles stares uncertainly up at the sign. “This is interesting.”
“You do like Japanese food, don’t you?” Suddenly, I’m doubting if this was a good idea at all. I’ve never seen him refuse a meal, but maybe I should have checked in with him first.
“I'll eat anything.” He shrugs. I can't tell if he's being serious or not but I’m hungry and I like it here, so if he’s not disagreeing with me, I’m not going to change my mind.
I think his weird mood must be reality setting in at last, like he’s finally realized that he’s going to be going home very soon, back to gray skies and brick houses and people in a permanent bad temper. Soon he’ll be back with all his old friends, going down to the pub and drinking beers until three in the morning, or whatever it is that British people do. He must be excited. I guess he must have wanted to come out with me out of some feeling of obligation, like he owes me something.
He doesn’t. I wish he’d either act like this is what it is or be real with me and tell me he’s bored. I can’t cope with this act of niceness, like that’s how he can get what he wants out of me. If it doesn’t mean anything to him, I don’t want him to pretend.
We get seated at a little table in the corner and order drinks from the waiter, an older Japanese guy with a severe face yet warm smile. It must be a slow kind of day, because I think this guy is one of the managers or owners or something. I’ve never seen him do actual service work in here.
A sudden shot of bravery hits me, and I lean over to Miles. “What's it like in London?” I ask.
I've been trying to avoid asking personal questions, not wanting to feel like I'm getting attached to him or to make him feel like I’m being invasive. But he’s seen me naked so many times now, and I barely know anything about him or his life at all beyond soccer. It only seems fair that, with only a few weeks left with him, I get to know at least something about him while we’re both sober and not in bed.
He frowns hard, his face drawing in. “It’s a city. Traffic sucks. Tube’s cool. There’s shops. There’s old shit. There’s weird buildings and tourist crap. What do you want to know?”
He’s brushing me off again, falling back into that flippancy he gives people when he needs to provide an answer but doesn’t actually want to say anything. But I’m in the mood to dig. “You know, I’ve always wanted to visit London.”
Miles scoffs, his face scrunching in disbelief. “Why? You live here.”
“Yeah, but still. And I thought you missed it there.”
“It’s not the place it used to be,” he mutters. A dark frown settles over his features like a storm cloud, thundering and ominous.
