Page 83 of Bastard Bartender

“Took a chance to see if my favorite girl was still up.” Even his swagger as he walks in the room makes me weak at the knees. “You okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Not crying. Worrying. A lot.” I motion toward my iPad. “I’ve been reading about BASE jumping.”

Leaning back on his heels, he looks down at me with a grin. “Don’t go down the dark tunnels of the World Wide Web. You’ll be frightened of your shadow if you believe everything you read.”

“It’s hard not to when the man you’re dating is going to thrust himself off a cliff.”

Those dark brows of his rise. “I like the idea of thrusting.”

“I’m being serious here, Nicolás. Where are you doing this anyway? It’s illegal in the entire state of Nevada.”

He sighs with a touch of annoyance. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure you understand how dangerous this is.”

His hands rise to my arms, and he rubs them. “Don’t worry about me. I live for extreme and dangerous. If it wasn’t, then it wouldn’t be any fun.”

As his lips touch my forehead, I close my eyes and muster the strength to just come out and say what I want.

“You’re not going.”

“Excuse me?” He steps back and eyes me skeptically.

“It is too dangerous. Not to mention, the legal ramifications are astounding. Unless you plan on driving to Idaho?”

“You’re not my mother.”

“You’re right. I’m your girlfriend and too crazy about you to let you make such a terrible decision. You said you’d make an effort and put me first.”

“That doesn’t mean ignoring my wants.”

I tap my finger on my hip. “I know you’re new to this relationship thing, but you risking your life this way is a hard limit for me.”

He scoffs, “I’ll call you when I land.”

“You’re being insensitive.”

“And you’re being controlling.”

“You could die, Nic!”

“So then, I fucking die!” he states loudly. He’s not mad with his statement. The light in his eyes and wild expression show he’s almost proud of his conviction.

I turn and hug myself, feeling sad that I can’t get through to him. That sadness quickly morphs into something else. My ears redden, and my heart pumps wildly, sending blood from the tips of my toes to the top of my brain. I spin back around with my hand on my hip. “Dying is not a sport.”

“How would you know if you’ve never played the game?”

“You can’t stand here and act like having cancer as a child gives you an excuse to go and risk your life for the thrill of feeling alive. There are people who care about you. Your parents. Your friends. Me. Do you even give a shit how this makes everyone else feel? What your mother would think if she knew how careless you’re being? You’ve already cheated death twice.”

“With some of the shit I’ve done, I’d guess it’s about six times by now,” he jokes.

“You are so obstinate.” I practically stomp my foot.

“And you’re overreacting,” he states pointedly.

“I care about you.”

“If you cared, you’d stop trying to change me.” His tone is flat as he shakes his head and walks over to the kitchen. He grabs a highball from the cabinet and a bottle of tequila from under the sink. Pouring himself a shot, he downs it and then looks back at me. “I’m not fighting with you about this.”