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‘It is what it is.’
‘I know we just met, but, if you ever need help, you call me. Okay?’ I say gently, placing my hand over his.
‘Same to you.’
‘I’m serious,’ I press, my eyes boring into his. ‘Let’s have a code sentence.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘A code sentence?’
‘Yeah. Like a sentence that we say to each other when we need the other.’
The corners of his lips twitch. ‘Okay. Like what?’
‘Like … “Have you ordered pizza for dinner?”’
‘But what if you genuinely wanted to know if I ordered pizza for dinner?’ He grins.
‘Well. I absolutely hate pepperoni. So if I say, “Can you order pepperoni?” you know I’m in trouble.’
‘I don’t like pepperoni either.’
‘See? Works perfect.’
‘Okay. Sure.’ He smiles. ‘And while we’re going, if we want to talk to the other person but don’t know how to start the conversation, let’s say, “How’s the weather doing where you are?”’
‘Deal,’ I smile.
He holds out his hand, and we shake. We stare at each other for a moment, and I let my eyes roam over his face. Even with all the cuts and bruises, I can tell he is extremely handsome. He has pretty blue eyes, long lashes, darker-than-midnight hair, and a jawline that could cut glass. He’s tall. A lot taller than me.
The air is cold on my cheeks and I rub my hands together, shivering. I move closer to him. Our fingers brush and a jolt of nervous electricity shoots through me. He yanks his hoodie over his head and passes it to me wordlessly.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Then you’ll be cold.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
Smiling, I take it gratefully, sliding it over my body. It’s warm and smells strongly of something I can’t quite describe. I tug down the sleeves so they swallow my hands.
‘Does it suit me?’
‘Definitely.’ He grins. ‘Your parents don’t mind you being out late?’
‘They don’t know.’ I smile sheepishly.
‘I didn’t realise you were a bad girl,’ he teases.
‘They’re busy socialising. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.’
‘Mmhmm,’ he says. The sound is deep and comes from his chest. ‘What’re your parents like?’
‘My mum is full on. She wants everything and everyone to act perfect, even if things are falling apart. Like with my sister. She just tells everyone something different. She doesn’t care about what’s actually wrong, as long as she looks fine.’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t know how to explain it.’
‘And your father?’
I shrug. ‘Stepfather. He’s fine, I guess. Quiet. A little controlling. Strict, I suppose, but he’s fine.’
‘How long has he been around?’
‘About a year and a half.’
