Maybe she was a girl he’d met at university. Oh god, what if he was going out with someone, while we were —
He glanced sideways at me. “My sister,” he explained, turning his eyes back to the machine.
“Oh,” I said, feeling dumb. “I didn’t know you had a sister.” I always thought he was an only child. He gave off only child vibes — not that I could talk, since I was one too.
“Technically, she’s my half-sister. She’s also six.”
“Right.”
I wanted to ask him more about his family — and since he was my slave he had to answer — but something about his demeanour made me hesitate, and besides, I was distracted by the claws dropping the fuzzy soccer ball into the hole. Taylor pulled it out and pushed it into my hand.
“It’s yours.”
I squished it. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
He just made an annoyed muttering sound.
Since we were in the city, I figured we might as well make the most of it. It was the first time I’d left campus since I’d moved in, and it was strange realising how different it was, seeing elderly couples walk by, holding hands, and kids screaming their heads off on the playground. Taylor and I walked through a huge park with several eucalyptus, oak and palm trees, and a big lake in the centre. There were a few people out in rowboats and Taylor said something about it being romantic, so I chucked my soccer ball plushie at his head, which resulted in us piffing the ball at each other like we were thirteen years old.
Later, we window shopped, and, when our legs got tired, sat down on a couch in a fancy department store, watching rich people browse designer shoes.
“When I’m rich,” Taylor said, “there’s no way in hell I’m spending four hundred dollars on a pair of runners.”
He said it like his future success was guaranteed, and it probably was. He’d graduate and become some fancy pants lawyer. It was the sort of thing that’d happen to him.
I thought about asking him about his law course, but decided that would seem a bit too friendly. He’d think that I was actually interested in his life, or something. Then he’d make some lofty speech about not getting attached to him.
For dinner, we went to a pizza restaurant with blue tiled walls, red leather booths, and framed posters of Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck inRoman Holiday. It was early, so there were only a few other patrons around.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I asked once we were seated. I flipped through the laminated menu and showed him the beer selection.
“I’m okay.” His gaze met mine then darted away.
“Alright. I won’t drink either.”
We ordered arancini as an appetiser, two pizzas, and I asked for tap water. We were quiet as we devoured the food. Who knew walking around department stores and chasing each other with a stuffed soccer ball would use up so much energy?
“We going back after this?” Taylor asked, cleaning his fingers with a napkin.
“Eager?” I teased.
He glared. “No.”
“Admit it. You want it.”
“No.”
“As my slave, I compel you to say it.”
His face twisted, then went carefully blank. “I want it,” he said, the same way you’d say to someone,your bank account is in overdraft.
“Say it with more oomph.”
“I want it,” he repeated, exactly the same.
I chuckled. This was fun. “Taylor?”
“Yes?” he said tiredly.
