Page 22 of Double Apex

“And that’s okay! Just have fun.”

“Winning is fun. And I am hoping to distract you intoan error.” His eyes narrow in a conspicuously bedroomy way. “I’m told my eyes are magnetic.”

I snort. “You’re told shit like that too often, Ardelean. Which is why you’re an insufferable prick.”

He sits back and studies me. “You still think this after two days together?”

“Not exactly. But it’s your public image. How the world sees you.”

“Everyone loves a rascal.” He lifts his wineglass and finishes the last sip.

I almost don’t say it, but I’ve had three glasses of wine to his one, and it slips out. “Doyoulove you?”

He wavers in the act of setting the glass down. “Why would you ask that?”

“Why would you answer a question with a question?”

He fiddles with the cuff of the hoodie he’s wearing, as if picking a bit of lint. “Not that question.”

“You mean you don’t want toanswerthat one,” I state.

“Correct.” He offers a stiff smile. “Ask a different one. But you must answer it too.”

I take a slow breath through my nose and purse my lips for a gusty exhale.

“Okay, way to make it difficult—like when my mom would let me cut a treat in half with my sister, but Aislinn got to choose first.”

There’s a musical clicking from a wind chime made of oyster shells. The shushing of the ocean rises and falls below us.

I peek at him. “What are you afraid of?”

“Hm. I don’t like this question better.”

“Come on—what kind of softball do you want me to throw: ‘How big is your dick?’ Be real or this is pointless.”

“You want to see?” he jokes, hands going to the button on his jeans. He pretends he’s about to stand up.

“Cosmin!” I laugh.

He settles in the chair again, and we watch each other.

“All right,” he says. “I’m afraid of… like in the book with the little people and the dragon—the Hobbit book. The dragon—”

“Smaug,” I insert.

“Beautiful. Yes. This dragon has one missing scale. He’s afraid someone will shoot him there—the only weak point.” He rubs a hand through his hair. “So, that’s it. My fear.”

My brow furrows. “I don’t think that’s how it went. The dragon isn’t ‘afraid someone will shoot him there.’ He doesn’t know hehasa missing scale.”

“It’s how I remember it.”

“That’s very telling. And you’re being deliberately vague, not saying what the ‘missing scale’ is. Your real fear.”

He shrugs with a blithe mock frown. Reaching for the stem of his empty wineglass, he rotates it, then slants a look at me. “Your turn.”

I give a small huff of laughter. “You get what you give, dude. I’m not planning on baring my soul here: I’m afraid of spiders.”

“Everyone is afraid of spiders.”

---