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I have no idea what kind of older man younger woman fantasy she just had in her head, but I sure as fuck hope it involved me.
“Boys are so… childish,” she says, sounding so sophisticated. Like a woman of the world, which makes me smile and then chuckle.
I’m not laughing at her though.
I laugh because I agree and I’m glad to see her relaxing as much as I am. But I’m also punishing myself for the way I reacted when I finally got her alone. But I also know I couldn’t help it.
Idiot! Throwing yourself at her like that. Try talking to her Einstein. Maybe dinner?
“Let’s start over,” I suggest. “You’re traveling and we’ve just happened to meet. I’d like to spend the afternoon getting to know you. Then maybe some dinner in the first class dining car?”
Her eyes widen and then narrow as she listens, and I can tell she likes the idea.
But there’s something else. Something blocking her true feelings.
“What about mom, Suzanna?” she asks herself absently, focusing more on her friend. “I mean… once mom gets off the train, she’ll be all alone.”
I wince a little internally, but anything for Natasha is never too much.
“How about we all have dinner together? We can see how it pans out with your friend.”
She breathes a sigh of relief as if a major crisis has been averted, and although I’d rather have her all to myself I wouldn’t want her worrying about her friend either.
“Where do you get off?” she asks, making me smile wide as I scan her body again.
“I think I’m going all the way,” I remark cryptically, which makes her smile too.
Chapter Seven
Natasha
After the shock of Michael kissing me for real, not just as a dare, I have plenty to mull over as well as trying to keep up with his conversation.
Keep up with everything that’s happened so suddenly.
It feels like a dream, unreal. Everything has happened so quickly.
One minute I’m groaning as I struggle to go along with Suzanna’s stupid dare, the next I’m groaning for real as I have my hands on a real life man.
And not just any man, Michael Stapleton.
He seems worried for a moment when we swap ages, but when I look at him I don’t see a number.
If anything I’m worried he’ll think I’m immature or too young.
All the things I’ve proven myself to be at some stage or another on this trip so far with my friend Suzanna, and even my mom.
But once we’re settled down and we get to talking it really is just like Michael said.
It feels like I’ve known him forever, and once I get past my initial nerves and self-doubt, the minutes turn into hours as we talk about everything apart from him.
Although, when he does talk, it’s all about me for some reason.
I deliberately avoid talking about my family and he in turn deliberately avoids the topic of his own personal life.
He mostly wants to know all about the real me.
Something nobody has ever even thought to ask about.
What do I love? What do I hate?
There’s nothing that Michael seems to shy away from when it comes to finding out what makes me tick.
Who I live with or what I actually do is secondary, as long as it doesn’t involve another male.
For some reason every time I even mention a man or male, he seems to bristle at the idea.
As if the idea of another man or even boys being anywhere near me drives him nuts.
He even growled at the steward when he asks if we needed anything, making the man give a shocked look as he apologized for disturbing us.
I think to ask him about that, but figure I must be imagining things.
We’ve just met, and are getting to know each other, why would he be so protective?
I try to pick Michael’s brain about himself. What he does and where he lives, but he seems to calmly brush it aside whenever I ask a question about him, turning everything back to me again.
There’s a look he gives me though. A knowing look that says I’ll find out everything I want to know in good time.
But how much time do we have?
I can see now what mom was probably warning me about. About not getting too hopeful when it comes to men.
Assuming they won’t follow through no matter how shiny the wrapper is.
But that’s my mom’s experience. Her relationship with my dad doesn’t have to be my future, does it?
Doesn’t it?
We’re quiet for a while, outside the window, the landscape shows the glowing oranges and purples of a spectacular sunset, just out of view over some low mountains.
“I hope I’m not boring you,” Michael says, looking at his watch, observing how close it is to dinner already.
“I don’t think we even had lunch,” he says, looking over to me and apologizing.
