Page 30 of Falling Madly
She stared at me, her jaw jutting forward. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m endlessly fascinated by you. I’m collecting Teresa trivia and I’m willing to play dirty.”
Her eyebrow sailed up, suspicious. “Dirty, how?”
I folded my arms to match her stance, flashing her a wicked smile. “Either you tell me about the discretions of your youth, or I won’t buy you dinner.”
“That’s okay, I’m not that hungry.” She punctuated her words with a scoff.
Unfortunately, her stomach took that opportunity to growl. I burst out laughing and after a moment, she followed.
“Fuck, I can’t…” She cast her eyes at the sky, or rather the awning we stood under. “I skipped breakfast, and it’s been a hot minute since that salad.”
“Come clean, lass! You’ll feel a lot lighter. For every confession you make, I trade you one of mine. They’re embarrassing, too, I promise. I was quite into acting in my earlier life. Did various audition tapes for roles I never had the slightest chance to land, and my eejit brother uploaded them to YouTube. So, I’ve got visuals.”
“Holy shit!” She raised a hand to her mouth, trying to suppress a cackle. “I’ve seen you on stage, though. I bet those tapes are totally brilliant and not embarrassing at all.”
Chapter Ten
Teresa
He pulled out his phone and tapped on it, then stuck it in my face when a video started playing. It was a young Trevor, holding a prop gun, dramatically and insufficiently lit from the side, speaking in an awful, fake American accent.
“A scene from Casino Royale,” he told me, but I wasn’t listening to the movie lines. I was staring at his face—Trevor without a beard! He had a nice, strong jaw and full lips. Nothing that could be drastically improved with facial hair. Why had he grown a beard?
“Thank you,” I said, passing the phone back to him. “I appreciate that.”
“Your turn,” he said.
My throat felt sticky. I wanted to tell him. I wanted us to be this close, just like we’d been that night. But how could I trust him with my secrets? He’d already betrayed me once, and I wasn’t made of Teflon like him. We worked in the same industry,in the same city. If my past transgressions became common knowledge, it could affect my career.
“I did naughty things in my youth. Can we just leave it at that?”
He cocked his head, staring at me like he was trying to extract something from my brain using telepathy. “Everyone does naughty things in their youth… Are we talking about drinking, drugs, crime…”
A muscle in my face must have spasmed on the last word since he smiled. “Crime! I would have never thought.” His voice was almost reverent. “Tell me more. I don’t think you’re a killer…” He kept watching my face, eyes narrowed. “Nae, ye not violent, and ye far too driven to waste time on drugs. My money’s on shoplifting.”
I glanced at the shop we’d exited. “Selma is my mom’s old friend. They still keep in touch, and I heard she’d opened a gift shop. She used to work at the school and keep an eye on me… and she saw me do something stupid… I know she means well, but you know how seeing someone reminds you of something you’d rather not think about?”
“What did you do?”
I stared at my boots. “Stupid teenage stuff.”
“That’s it?” His voice rose in suspicion.
“That’s all you’re getting until I get fed.” I spun around and marched towards the general store. Hopefully, it was still there. “And if they don’t have anything ready-made and I have to live on cold Pop Tarts and soda, no more secrets.”
I already knew the store was tiny and overpriced. I doubted the selection had expanded to include anything highly exciting in the last fourteen years. So, my secrets were safe. For now.
As we reached the store, Trevor spotted another restaurant down a side street. “I’ll just quickly check that one, aye?”
He jogged down the alley like it was a race and that last available reservation was going to be taken in the next sixty seconds. I trailed behind, careful not to slip on the icy sidewalk. When I made it to the restaurant, he appeared in the doorway, grinning at me. “We have a table!”
“What is this place?” I peered at the green sign.
“Dinnae… Something Irish. Coddle and stew? Does it matter?”
“No,” I admitted, following him inside.
