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He turns, annoyed, but when he sees me, his face softens.
“Brooke?”
He’s unbelievably handsome. Intense eyes. Sharp jaw. An alluring five o’clock shadow.
I can hardly think straight being so close to him.
I blink. “You…know what I look like?”
“Why did you follow me?”
His tone is harsh. I’ve made him mad.
“I…I…”
When someone bumps into me, he shouts, “Hey, watch it!”, then takes me by the arm and pulls me into a cafe.
He buys us drinks, and we settle into a booth, sitting across from one another.
He watches me for a time, his dark eyes looking strangely sad.
Finally, he says, “Do you mind telling me what’s going on?”
“I know this sounds crazy, but I want you to take me with you.”
He cocks his head to the side in confusion. I don’t blame him. I’m confused too. The thought came out of nowhere, like a damn freight train.
“My life is horrible. My stepmother, your mother, is—”
“A cunt.”
My cheeks redden. “Yeah. That.”
“Brooke, you’re sixteen. You belong with your family.”
“You called me your sis.”
“Back at your penthouse? Yeah…it’s a figure of speech. I guess I was just hoping for something that wasn’t meant to be. I wanted to get to know my mom, but she doesn’t want to know me. You're not my sis, though. Not like that.”
“I want to get to know you. I saw you got me something. That’s sweet. It might seem like I have everything, but I don’t.”
His mouth becomes a hard line. “You need to go back home, Brooke. I’m set to go overseas again and you can’t come with me. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to.”
“You don’t know what they’re like!” I say desperately.
“Two years. Then you’re eighteen. You have to make it two years.”
“Then you’ll come for me?”
“No. Then you can legally run away. It’s what I did. My father was a bastard through and through. I hold no ill will against my ma for leaving him. The first chance I got, I joined the service and haven’t looked back since. Four years in, and it feels like home. You can have that, too. Maybe not in the military, but there’s bound to be something out there for you.”
I scoff. “I don’t even know if I can make it two days.”
He pulls a small notepad from his bag, takes out a pen, and begins writing.
“Write to me. The entire time. Tell me everything about your life. About school, boys, issues, anything you feel the need to talk about.”
I frown. “If your mom sees that you’re writing to me, she’ll flip. And my father will do much worse…”
