Page 9 of Fighting Spirit

Fuck it, there’s no way around this other than coming clean. I can almost picture my mother’s pursed lips the first time she saw me shove my plate away at a dinner party. I loudly declared that I would ‘die dead if they fed me that’.

I was six.

“I actually can’t.” I chew the inside of my lip. I don’t know why I have such a hard time explaining. It’s not like allergies are that big of a deal (aside from the whole throat-swelling-up-and-dying thing), but I’ve just always felt better when I’ve kept them close to the chest. It’s like I can keep myself safe if I don’t let anybody know what can hurt me. Even if the thing that can hurt me is just a block of cheddar.

Rowan’s head gives a confused tilt that I find weirdly adorable.

“Allergies.” I wrinkle my nose as I look down at the plate. “Wheat, dairy, eggs. And bell peppers… Weirdly…”

“Oh shit.” Rowan’s eyebrows go up, making him look about four years younger.

“So this is…” I hold out the plate slightly, giving it a pointed look.

“Fuck!” Rowan shoots forward, snatching the plate out of my hand and hiding it behind his back as if any possible cheese particles won’t find me like so long as they can’t see me. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, why didn’t you lead with that? Do you need one of the stabby pens or something?”

“An Epi-Pen?”

“Whatever. Do you need one right now?”

“It’s not that kind of allergy, more an intolerance. I’ll just get sick if I eat it.”

Rowan visibly deflates, slumping back into the chair with the offending plate on his knee. “Fuckin’ hell.” He rubs a hand through his hair. Some of it stays sticking up, undercutting thefurious glare coming my way. “You should have said something before I tried to poison you!”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

Rowan shoots me an unimpressed look, Clearly he thinks that this is, in fact, a very big deal.

“Just tell me next time, yeah?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Next time?”

“You know what I mean.” His voice is all gravel, he’s leaning forward, slightly too close to be casual, but not so much so that I’m uncomfortable.

In fact, it surprises me how un-freaked out I am at this moment. By all accounts I should be curled up crying into my faux-fur sleeves, but Rowan gives off this vibe that just makes me feel kind of okay.

“So.” He picks up the death sandwich and bites into it. “What do we do now?”

Chapter Four

ROWAN

It’s been an hour since sandwich-gate, and I’ve only just managed to convince my body to relax enough to take in the movie that’s playing. This whole situation has knocked me sideways. I spent the first thirty minutes switching between glowering at Ruth and pacing the room, until she told me I was stressing her out.

I’ve texted Trevor three times asking him to bring my car back, but whatever date he’s on must have his full attention. It’s not like him to ignore me. Maybe his phone died or something.

He and I have been described as ‘weirdly codependent’ by anyone who’s spent much time around us. I kind of wish that he was here now; he’d be able to deal with all of this without coming across as a colossal ass. He’s the fun one, he’s good with people and putting them at ease. I’m the one who scowls and stands in the corner until it’s time to drive him home.

Either way, Ruth is stuck here until he shows up.

She’s curled up on the couch, as far away from me as she can. She’s been furious with me all night, hardly saying more than a few words that weren’t cussing me out, but I’ll take her anger over those scared eyes any day. I think that we both know it’s notreally me she’s mad at, but I’m happy to take it if it makes her feel better.

Fuck if I know why she’s getting to me so much.

“How come they left you in charge?” she asks, her voice startling me.

I shift in my seat, turning to face her. I’ve been trying to avoid looking at her too hard, telling myself I didn’t want to freak her out by staring. But in truth, I just don’t want to acknowledge the fact that she’s really fuckin’ pretty. Round face, big green eyes, cheeks that look built for a grin.

“What do you mean?” I ask, scratching my shoulder as I try to find a tone that’s sufficiently casual. The trouble is, I know precisely what she means, and I hate that she’s pinned it down so quickly.

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