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Val settles into the place slowly, shifting in her seat, studying the pattern on the wallpaper—diamonds in alternating shades of grey.
I order a sangria for her and a vesper for me. I know I shouldn't jump straight to a strong drink, especially after giving her shit, but it feels appropriately European. And, okay, yeah, I want something to dull the voice in the back of my head, the one that keeps asking what the fuck I'm doing.
Are you hurting her on purpose now?
Are you really going to help her through this and then bail?
Or is that what she wants? Deep down, is she like everyone else? Does she see you as nothing but a good time?
Nope. None of that shit.
The bartender works fast. I meet Val at the booth in the nearly empty room. And yeah, our bodies are mostly blocked by the table, and the wall to her back, but I don't linger on thoughts of the possibilities.
I consider them for a moment—I could dive between her legs or pull her into my lap—and I release them.
We're here to talk.
I'm not going to do anything to freak her out. I can't handle it.
She watches me slide onto the bench seat.
"When did you start drinking martinis?"
"When in Europe…"
She raises a brow. "Oh, you mean, like James Bond? You don't like James Bond."
"I don't want to like James Bond."
"Wait." She perks. "You like James Bond? The books? The movies? The concept?"
"The movies."
"The concept?" she asks.
"Not the part about Bond sleeping with a new babe every locale."
"'Cause your dad adores that?" she asks.
"Am I that obvious?"
"I majored in film because my dad would hate it." She takes a long sip of her sangria. "We're all obvious."
"The new movies are good."
She shoots me a really look.
I return it. "They're all about how much it sucks to be James Bond."
"It's so hard sleeping with beautiful women?"
"Kinda, yeah."
She raises a brow.
"They look at the reality of the character. Here's this guy who drinks his problems away, who isn't able to form a real relationship because of his job, who makes these failed attempts at intimacy again and again."
"Does he really try to have a relationship?" she asks.
"Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes, he falls hard. But it never lasts. And he can't trust or be trusted, 'cause he's a fucking spy. He's always on the lookout for someone with a secret, someone ready to betray him."
"And he has to be ready to betray someone for his country," she says.
"He's tragic."
She takes another sip, finding the subtext in my film taste the way she always does. "Is that how you felt? With all your flings?"
"Sometimes," I say. "Sometimes it was fun and that's all there was to it."
"But you never tried to have more."
"I didn't believe I was capable."
"Do you now?" she asks.
No. "Yeah."
She takes another sip. "Me too." She smiles, but there's not a lot of heart in it. "I'm sorry about before. Really, Dare. I started to think about that and then I felt your hand and I went there. It's not your fault. It's something that happens sometimes."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"What do you want me to say?" I ask.
She looks at me with curious eyes. She doesn't know either. Or she thinks I'm being an asshole. Both, maybe. "How's the martini? Is it shaken not stirred?"
"You think my Spanish is that good?"
"Most people in the service industry speak a little English. Barcelona is a tourist hot spot."
"A vesper," I say. "Named after the villain."
"Edgy."
I flip her off.
She laughs. "What's in the edgy martini?"
"Gin, vodka, lillet blanc."
"You needed a strong drink after all that."
"Val—"
"If you're hurt, you can say that. I'd rather you say that than pretend it's okay," she says.
"I'm hurt and it's okay."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," I say.
"Do you want to take a break?" she asks.
Part of me does. The other part wants to fill every one of her fantasies, every day, forever. "If that's what you need."
"But what do you want?" she asks.
I don't want to hurt her. It's that simple. "This is new. How about we enjoy the magic for a while?"
"Right. We need to enjoy all ten days. I hear it fades on day eleven." She smiles, teasing.
A laugh spills from my lips. "Why are you so good with humor?"
"Because I had to be." She steals a sip of my drink and makes an omg, that's strong face. "Chubby girl with glasses. I had to make fun of myself before people could do it."
"Your glasses are hot."
"I know."
"You know?" I ask. "Does that mean you're into a librarian fantasy?"
"What is a librarian fantasy?" she asks.
"Something about staying quiet?"
"No. I don't like it quiet." She turns to me. "I like the schoolgirl thing. I mean the professor student thing. One day. But anything like that would take me a long time."
"I want to try every freaking thing you think of," I say. "But I'm not in a rush. This is all new to me."
