Page 12

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I imagine you have.”

I smile. “You still haven’t answered the question.”

“No.”

“So, answer it.”

He studies me as though trying to solve a puzzle that’s missing half its pieces. “You don’t fit.”

My smile falters. “What?”

“You look innocent.”

“I’m not.”

“I fucking know that.”

“You think you know,” I counter.

“I know enough.” His gaze drops briefly to the knife on the table before returning to me. “You carry a blade.”

“You carried one too.”

“You don’t flinch.”

“Should I?”

“You watched me bleed.”

“You survived.”

“You climbed onto my bike without hesitation.”

I shrug. “It seemed faster than walking.”

A low, disbelieving laugh escapes him. “There it is.”

“What?”

“That mouth.”

“My mouth’s never been a problem.”

“I disagree.” He steps closer until only inches separate us. “You’re either the bravest woman I’ve ever met...” He pauses. “...or the most reckless.”

“I’m neither.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What are you then?”

I smile without answering.

His frustration finally snaps, his voice rougher, almost desperate, as if he’s barely holding himself together. “My little toy,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You think this is some kind of game.”