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She thinks for a moment. “She asked if I was in love with you.”
I hesitate, because I’m not sure I want to know the answer, but Bridget doesn’t seem the type of person to fall for someone too easily, unlike her friend Amy.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I said ‘hell, no, I’m just using him to get a free trip to Thailand.’”
I laugh.
“In reality, I told her we haven’t known each other long,” she reveals.
“So the answer was ‘no.’”
She pauses, then asks, “Did you want a different answer?”
I also pause. I’ve never regarded crowded street markets, made muggy by the mass of people, filled with a variety of smells both aromatic and pungent, as romantic. But looking at Bridget, that was the way I felt. Like I did want a different answer.
I brush it off. “’Course not.”
Like me, she seems faintly disappointed, then tries to lighten the tension by joking, “I told her we were just about the sex.”
“Good.”
We continue walking, but when her hand grazes mine, I decide to take it.
