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“Adrian Lovelock. Walked into the ocean and never returned.”
My palms begin to sweat as my grip tightens. I hold my breath, almost choking on my fear. I don’t understand why he’s brought me here, and the thought of these people passing in very unfortunate circumstances terrifies me.
“Why… or how… do you know this?” I stumble on my words, my thoughts so scattered and overcome by nerves. “Wesley, please answer me.”
His posture falls, hunched and nothing like the confident asshole who picked me up at my apartment or the person in the club who asked me if I was a nun. Another side to the ever-so-mysterious Wesley Rich.
“This could be me.”
I release my hand from his, taking a step back and careful not to tread on a tombstone, folding my arms, confused.
“What do you mean ‘this could be me?’ Have you thought about throwing yourself off a cliff or walking into the ocean?” My tone, though unintentional, comes off harsh. He doesn’t answer immediately, walking us in the opposite direction, the sounds of waves crashing becoming closer.
Wesley stops at the metal railing protecting us from the steep fall off the cliff. “Yes, I have. Their lives, my life, same path.” He lowers his head, slightly turning away.
“So, change it. No one creates this path but you. You see a fork in the road, go the other way. Follow your instincts. If it doesn’t feel right, then don’t do it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Look…” I calm my voice to match his, pulling him away from the edge, “… I don’t know anything about you. Whatever it is, I’m sure you can change it.”
“I’m not a good person, Milana,” he admits, finally raising his eyes to meet mine. “I’ve done bad things. Things you wouldn’t…” he trails off, the same time an owl hoots in the background.
As long as he isn’t an ax-wielding murderer, it can’t be that bad. Nobody is perfect, including me. Perfection is so overrated.
“Wesley, stop. Please. Give yourself a break from your inner demons. You have so much ahead of you. We all make mistakes. It’s how we redeem ourselves that matters.”
Truth is, I know nothing about him. I’m not even in a position to say ‘you’re only thirty, everyone knows that life begins at thirty-five.’ Wesley rubs his face with the palm of his hands, shifting seconds later to run his fingers through his hair with obvious frustration.
“I can’t stay away from you.”
His words are like fireworks, beautiful yet frightening and loud at the same time.
“But you don’t know me. What is it I’m doing that makes you feel that way?”
“Nothing. You don’t ask me much, you don’t follow me, you don’t hang onto my every word and beg for me to take you to my bedroom and fuck you in every which way because I’m Wesley Rich.”
I cling to every word he says, startled by the way it makes me feel. The way he makes me feel. I’m not surprised that girls throw themselves at him, but that isn’t me. I’m not into that whole lust for a movie star. The men I lust for do something that sets off a trigger warning inside my usually quiet mind.
And Wesley is doing both.
“See, you just don’t say anything. If I asked any other girl to come back with me to the bedroom, she’d be naked in two seconds.” He kicks a rock in front of him, the both of us watching it disappear into the night.
I keep my arms folded, shielding my chest from the cool air. “But what gain will I have following their actions?”
“Ouch.” He smirks, stabbing his heart in jest.
It takes a moment for my words to click, and quick to correct myself, I add, “I don’t mean it like that… it’s just… argh…”
“You’re rambling. It’s cute,” he whispers.
“Cute is something you say to someone at a theme park, not a cemetery. This place is creeping me out. I’ll say that.”
He takes my hand and motions for me to follow him. We pass the numerous headstones and the large crematorium on the left. I’m practically on top of him, drowning in fear until we pass the iron gates and end where we left the bike.
I reach for the helmet, holding it in my hand. “What I said earlier… it didn’t mean you wouldn’t be good sexually. I just… okay, I didn’t mean that, but I don’t know how to explain it.”
With a grin smothering his face, he leans in and kisses my forehead. His lips linger for a moment, the warmth easing my heightened nerves. Phoebe once told me a kiss on the forehead was the kiss of death. I still don’t know how she hasn’t fallen over more.
