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I rummage through my bag and retrieve a small sandwich I made, then place it and a lollipop on his table.
“Take them back,” he says without looking at me.
“I didn’t bring them for you. I just happened to have them, so you might as well eat.”
“No.”
“Then I’m not eating either.”
He tilts his tablet to the side to stare at me. “Did you abandon your common sense in a different time zone? Why the fuck would you starve because I’m choosing not to eat?”
“I like company when I eat.”
“The whole plane is your company.”
“I don’t know the whole plane. So if you don’t want me to starve, you might as well pick up that sandwich.”
“Whether you starve or stuff your stomach with food has zero effect on me.”
I pretend his words don’t create holes inside me as I fake a smile and act like I’m scrolling through my phone.
But I don’t eat.
Masochism is apparently one of my traits. Or maybe I’m trying to see if he really doesn’t care about me.
The wait is exactly ten minutes. With a grunt, he unwraps the sandwich and takes a big bite. He pauses, probably his nausea hitting him, but then he chews slowly and swallows.
I can’t help but grin as I grab my fork and knife.
“Wipe it off,” he growls.
“What?” I ask innocently, taking a bite of the meatballs.
“That fucking smile on your face.”
That only allows it to widen and he releases a sound, but he doesn’t say anything as he finishes the sandwich in a few more bites.
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“Then who did you do it for?”
“Myself, so I don’t have to carry you when you faint.”
“Whatever you say, Dan.”
His lips twist. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why? It disarms you?”
“More like it revolts me. That sandwich is trying to find its way out in a less glamorous way than how it went in.”
I see it then. The reason behind his cold, cutting words. It’s clear in the depth of his eyes, right below the surface, there’s a vulnerability, a weakness he’s going the extra mile to hide.
“If you say so,” I say sweetly, which clearly pisses him off. But before he can come back with his sarcastic, hurtful remarks, I change the subject. “When was the last time you went back to London?”
“Never.”
I pause eating. “Really?”
