Page 39 of Save Me

“Too late for that now. You’re trapped here with me for the next two hours.” I hear a quiet clatter. “Here, this is for you.”

Slowly, I lower my hands. James is holding out a small blue tub.

“Don’t say you really brought me ice cream?” I exclaim in disbelief.

“We had some in the house,” he says. “If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it.”

Without another word, I take it from him. James bends down to the fridge again, and the next second, he’s got another tub of Ben & Jerry’s in his hand. Intrigued, I watch him as he pulls off the lid and peels back the foil. The sight of him in that suit with ice cream in his lap seems so surreal that for a moment I wonder if I’m still asleep.

There’s condensation coming from the ice cream tub in my hand, and a cold droplet lands in my lap. I look around for a napkin.

“On the right there,” says James, nodding toward the bar.

I lean over, take an eggshell-colored napkin off the bar, and spread it over my lap. Then I open the tub and dig my spoon in. I close my eyes with delight. “Mm. Cookie dough.”

“I had to guess your favorite flavor,” says James. “Was I right?”

“Yeah, definitely,” I say with conviction, but then pause. “Mind you, the new salted caramel is really good too. Have you tried it?”

James shakes his head.

For a moment, there’s silence between us. Then he says: “This is the best hangover breakfast I’ve had in ages.”

So hewasout partying yesterday. “Long night?”

I immediately regret the question as he grins suggestively into his ice cream. “You could put it like that.”

“Then that part of the dreadful rumors about James Beaufort is true.”

“Dreadful rumors about James Beaufort?” he asks in amusement.

I raise an eyebrow. “Come on.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Like you don’t know all the stories about you and your friends.”

“Such as?”

“That you have caviar for breakfast, go swimming in champagne, you broke a waterbed during sex…and so on.”

He pauses, spoon halfway to his lips. A second passes, then another. In the end, he pops the spoon into his mouth and eats the ice cream slowly, acting like he’s deep in thought. Apparently, he’s starting to wake up. His eyes don’t have that hazy veil over them anymore.

“OK, then it’s time to clear those rumors up,” he begins. “I can’t stand caviar—the idea of eating fish eggs is just gross. I have a smoothie for breakfast, usually with poached eggs or muesli.”

“Inthe smoothie?” I pull a revolted face.

“Notinthe smoothie. With it.”

“Oh, right.”

He thinks again. “It’s not true about the champagne, either. Or not quite. I did once drop a bloody expensive bottle belonging to Wren’s parents in their pool, so I swam in it that way. But that was an accident.”

“Wren’s parents must love you.”

“You have no idea.” He grins and keeps on digging into the ice cream.

“And…the waterbed?” I ask hesitantly.

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