“I’m still a little drunk if I’m being honest with you. I’m not sure I’d do this sober and I might regret it in the morning, but he didn’t give a fuck, so why should I?” I lift both shoulders apathetically as I start walking backward.
“I’m going with you,” he adamantly states.
“Uh, no, you’re not.”
“Uh, yes, I am.”
“Daniel.”
“Josefine.”
I drop my head back, groaning. “No. The last thing I need is for you to get in trouble. It’ll be quick anyway.”
His grin broadens. “You care about me?”
“You and your assumptions. You’re an athlete and I assume you’re on a scholarship. If you get arrested, you’ll lose it. So go home. I’ll see you on Monday.” I go to walk away but stop in my tracks, peering over my shoulder. “If you want to send me her address, I’m more than happy to also pay her car a little visit.” I wave the knife and then pretend to slash the imaginary tire.
He throws his head back and laughs. It’s hearty and the deep timbre feels like it’s touching me, the vibration shocking every nerve in my body. I shouldn’t like how his laugh sounds, but I do, a lot.
“We should start with one and maybe do hers another day. They’ll know it was us if it happens on the same night.”
Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that. “Okay, well, I’ll see you?—”
“I’m going with you. This isn’t up for debate. Plus you said you’re still kind of drunk. I’ll drive. I burned off all the alcohol on the run anyway.”
“Daniel.” I suck in a breath. “I don’t need you to come?—”
“Do I need to speak in Spanish to you to get you to understand?”
“How do you know I understand Spanish?”
“For”—he clears his throat—“research purposes, I saw one of your interviews.” He smiles sweetly at me, melting my hesitation for a second.
What’s wrong with me? Am I that big of a loser that a smidge of attention from someone doingresearchon me makes me feel strangely acknowledged?
“Well?” I impatiently tap my foot.
He takes one step forward. “Voy a ir contigo, aunque quieras o no. Y no discutas conmigo porque está conversión ya ha terminado. Sí me entendiste esta vez?”
Wow. “¿Estás seguro?”
“Contigo, siempre.”
My lips involuntary part open. My brain quickly attempts to scramble for something to say. It even sends signals to brush it off, walk away, to do something other than stand here and look stupid as I stare at him with stupefaction.
Two words, that’s all they are, but they feel like more than that. They make my heart light up, as though a wick has been lit. The tiny flame warms and illuminates the middle of my cold, black heart.
I shouldn’t put too much thought into words that could be trivial, but something about them makes me feel…something. I don’t know if it’s because they genuinely sound so sincere, but I’m having a hard time finding a flaw.
Words. They’re just words. Snap out of it.
“If you get in trouble, that’s on you.” I don’t mean it because I’d hate myself more than I do now if he did.
“The consequences will be worth it,” he says. “I need you to grab another knife. Preferably a box cutter or something you wouldn’t find in your kitchen.”
I stare at him quizzically. “Why?”
“Because…” His smile turns devilish. “We’re going to slash the last tire with the box cutter and leave it there. So when he calls the insurance, they’ll think he did it himself. It might or might not be considered insurance fraud. I guess we’ll find out…”
