Page 21 of The Cost of Love

“How many times have you?” I finish my drink.

“I think you should take this as a sign. The universe or God is telling you not to date her.” He points his steak knife at me to drive the point home.

I sword fight it with my own knife, causing him to laugh again.

“I will leave her alone if, at the end of our time together, she doesn’t want anything more. All I am doing right now is giving her what she wants, some great orgasms.”

He tilts his head at this and takes another bite before meeting my eyes. “I don’t want you to end up like Olivia,” he says, finally frowning.

“Olivia had no choice in the matter. She had to do what she did.”

“I know that, but you do have a choice, mate. You could very easily just be with someone we grew up with.”

“That wouldn’t be easy.” I look down at the table. “Believe it or not, what you perceive to be the hard path is actually the right one for me.”

He puts his utensils down, and I look back to see him staring off in concentration. When he does heavily blink, clearing away his thoughts, he looks more resigned.

“Well, you already got your trust fund, so there is not much else they can do to you.” He finds the bright side to what he sees as a stormy sky. “However, your concern should be what they will do to her.” He offers one last thing to think on before he changes the subject to other topics.

What he says stays with me all the way until I get home. Whether I like it or not, I do have to second-guess my decision in going after her. If I can get her to date me, she will have to integrate into a world I desperately want to escape. Is that fair? That’s not a question I can answer for her. But before I can even ask it, I need her to be open to the idea of me. After a shower, I lay down on my bed and think of ways to do just that. As my eyes close to give in to sleep, I know I have found a start.

Chapter 10

Chanice

We have been texting for days. I don’t know if this is the protocol for a typical situation like this, but I can’t help but perk up every time I see his name on my screen. Standing outside of a block of flats I am waiting to view, I see my phone light up with a new message from him. With time to kill before the building manager shows up, I decide to call and continue our chat over the phone.

“My favorite restaurant is Taco Bell,” I say, answering his texted question.

“Please tell me you are lying.” Laughter is loaded in his voice, waiting to shoot free. I am sure disbelief is causing his brows to pull together.

“What if I’m not?” I move further under the front awning, trying to avoid the morning sun beating down on me.

A cabbie honks, causing me to almost miss his answer.

“I will force you to go to every restaurant in the city until you find a new favorite.”

“Oh no, more free food. Please stop. It’s too much torture.” Even though he can’t see me, I press the back of my hand to my forehead, really selling my sarcasm.

Without the visual, he still gets it, sighing heavily on the line. “Fine. Tell me why it’s your favorite.”

Without meaning to, we are treading into a serious topic. To explain why it’s my favorite would mean I would have to tell him the story about how, growing up, my mum’s boyfriend, Rick, used to get us tacos every Tuesday when they were two for a pound. It was the only time we were guaranteed food, and I learned to savor it like they were a meal of fine dining. Ever since then, I buy them as a special treat whenever I’m feeling down.

Sad to note that it is one of the better memories of my childhood. It only lasted two years. The longest any of her boyfriends stuck around.

“They’re my comfort food,” I say, giving all I’m ready to give to someone tasked to only be here a while. I bite down the urge to tell him more and wait for his response.

“Can any taco do the job? Because I am prepared to show you better ones.”

I fight back my smile by pressing two fingers to my lips. “No, it can’t just be any taco.”

“Well, how about we have birria tacos and I introduce you to something that can challenge that decision?”

“Sounds like a date. We don’t do dates.” My lips form a pout as my face crunches up. I start to pace in anticipation of his answer.

“Let’s call it a hangout. I want to take you somewhere else, and after we are done, we will probably be hungry.”

My stomach lurches at the implication, as excitement has my heart fluttering. At the same time, my mind wonders if it’s fair to take another full night for myself. Before I can think of a second reason why us sharing a meal is a bad idea, a woman starts to wave to me as she crosses the street.