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“I can’t,” he said. “The fight.”
“Oh. Right.Training.” I forced myself not to roll my eyes. “In other words, starving and depravation.”
“Don’t worry. It’s just another twenty-four hours. Then the fight is done and we can both get fat together on all the ice cream you want.”
I smiled at him and then we just kind of stared at each other.
Together.
He’d just said that word.
Was he thinking what I was thinking? That we weren’t going to get to do much together at all because I was leaving in a week?
Don’t think about it.
“Well, that’s good,” I said lightly. “Because ice cream is amazing. I could not give up ice cream for anything.”
“You could, if it was important enough to you.”
I eyed him with curiosity. “What food do you give up in training that you miss the most?”
“Hands down, pizza.”
“Oh, God. I could totally go for a pizza.”
“Ice cream first, then pizza?”
“Hey, it’s almost dinner time.”
And that was how we ended up turning around and heading up Denman Street so I could eat pizza. Unfortunately, we didn’t find a pizza place that looked all that great, but we did find a Mexican place that was very inviting. So, I ate juicy, sloppy, amazing tacos and drank two margaritas, while Shane ate some sad-ass tacos with like nothing on them. Meat and lettuce, that was it. There wasn’t even a taco shell.
“Your life is really sad, my friend,” I told him, when I saw the plate with his order laid out in front of him.
He just kind of smiled at me.
Maybe because I’d just called himfriend.
God, were we getting mushy?
After spending the weekend handcuffed to the bed in his love shack while he made love to me for hours on end, things were getting blurrier by the second. I was getting some very soft feelings for him that I did not want to acknowledge.
Especially not right here, right now.
I avoided his eyes and dug in. Then I casually peppered him with questions about his training regimen to distract myself, and maybe him, from the very weird fact that we weren’t dating. Not at all. We were just two people fucking each other for a month before my mom married his dad and then one of us split town.
And eating tacos after a companionable stroll on the beach.
No big deal.
When we were finished our dinner, we walked back to his bike. And once again, I held on to him for dear life as we sped through downtown, to his loft. He parked us in the underground parking lot next to his cars. After he shut down the bike, I swung off and we ditched our helmets. Then he took my hand and without saying a word, he walked me to his elevator.
I felt giddy again. And happy to have my feet back on solid ground.
What arush.
“I like your new bike,” I told him, breathless.
“Do you?”
