Authors: Megan Squires
“I’m not so sure. I don’t know that I’d be
infected right away.” I tug my hand back and twist my fingers in my lap,
studying them in an effort to center myself again. “I think cooties have at
least a 24-hour incubation period.”
“You have nothing to worry about.” Ran sifts
his fingers through his dark hair, rustling it back into a disheveled, bedhead
styling. “I was immunized against cooties when I was five. You can’t catch them
from me.” He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and his feet hit the
floor. Suddenly we’re knee to knee: Ran sitting on my bed and me in my desk
chair. “But there’s something you can catch.”
“What’s that?” My lips quiver when I speak. I
bite down hard to scold them.
“Me,” he says. “I’ve been told in the past I’m
quite a catch.”
“And who would have fed you this lie?” I
challenge, because he makes it so easy.
“Pretty much every single—and some
not-so-single—woman that I’ve transported to the hospital.”
“So is that what you do? Drug your female
patients to get them to fall hopelessly in love with you?” I ask, not entirely
certain that this assertion is as off the wall as it sounds.
“Are you saying that you’re hopelessly in love
with me, Maggie?”
“Are you saying that you drugged me?”
“Touché.” The devilish grin that draws his
mouth upward is an unfair tool for him to possess. I think I’d do just about
anything he asked if he gave me that flirtatious smirk. “What do you feel like
for dinner?”
“Anything. I’m starving.”
“Do you like sushi?”
I glance at the plastic bag containing my
housewarming gift. “They don’t double as dinner, do they?”
“No, Maggie. I could never eat one of my pets.
That’s heartless.” Ran bends down to slip on and tie one of his shoes. He
glances up at me. “I get attached to things very easily.”
“I’ve learned not to get attached to anything
at all.”
“Well,” he pauses, pulling at the laces on the
remaining black boot. “I’m hoping I’ll be the one to change that for you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ve had over a decade
of practice in hardening this shell.”
“That sounds like a challenge. One I readily
accept.”
“Ran,” I sigh. “I don’t think you know what
you’re getting yourself into.”
“No, but I hope I’m about to find out.” He
jumps to his feet and pulls me up with him. “Have you ever ridden on the back
of an impossibly fast vehicle?”
“No.” I feel my stomach clamp down and the
taste of acid swims at the back of my mouth.
“Well, consider this just one of the many
firsts you and I are going to experience together.”
***
Ran kicks the stand down with his boot and
cranes his neck back my direction. My fingernails dig into the worn leather of
his black jacket and my death grip doesn’t loosen, even when he kills the
motor.
“Maggie?” Ran slides his helmet up and then
reaches over to lift mine off. My hair spills onto my shoulders and I shake it
out, but my fingers still cling tightly to Ran’s torso. “Maggie, we’re here.
You can let go now. That is, unless you don’t want to.”
I pry my hands loose. “Promise me I’ll never
have to do that again?”
“No girl has ever said that to me.” He flashes
a wide grin. “About
anything
. They
always beg for more.”
“Your overconfidence is beginning to wear on
me.” I shove my helmet into his stomach and scoot past him toward the
restaurant entrance, my shoes making intentionally loud crunching noises on the
concrete walkway. I hope the irritating sound effectively conveys my own
irritation with him right now.
“If by that you mean I’m starting to wear you
down, then that’s exactly the point.”
Ran takes two long skips past me and catches
the handle of the door just as a family exits through it. “Ladies first. Though
you weren’t much of a lady on that bike, cussing like a sailor and all.”
“I was scared shi—” I compose myself and
start again. “I was scared out of my mind, Ran.”
“There’s no reason to be scared. I know how to
handle that thing. I’ve been riding for years.” He thumbs his chin. “You’d be
amazed at what I can handle, Maggie.”
A woman behind a podium at the entrance
acknowledges us and guides us toward an empty table near the back of the
restaurant, two menus in hand. It’s dark and secluded back here, with the
cadence of noise and chatter drowned out by a substantial floor-to-ceiling
curtain partition that drapes around the table.
“Will this be okay?” She gestures a hand toward
the seat.
“Do you have anything more…out in the open?” I
scan the room.
“Uh, I
can check—”
Ran pulls out my chair. “No, this will be fine.
Thank you.”
I reluctantly drop into my seat and Ran takes
his position across the table from me. “Maggie, you don’t need to be afraid of
me. I’m not in the business of hurting people. I’m in the business of
comforting them.”
“Then why do you make me so uncomfortable?” I
keep my eyes on the menu in front of me, but in my periphery I see the hopeful
features on his face fall.
“
I
make
you
uncomfortable?”
I push my menu up higher to block him out
completely. “Sorta.”
“
You
make
me
uncomfortable—”
Before I can demand a response, a pimple-faced
waiter that looks like he’s twelve materializes at the edge of our table,
spouting off some rambling about tonight’s specials, but I don’t hear him. I
just hear Ran’s assertion that I make him uncomfortable over and over in my
head like it’s on repeat.
“And if you wouldn’t mind, can you take this
from her? She really can’t be trusted with sharp objects.”
I see Ran’s fingers slide across the table to
pull the knife off my napkin. He hands it to the waiter and shoots me another
one of his unfair grins. I would probably be mortified by his demeaning act if
he didn’t turn me on so much.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” The waiter tucks the utensil
into his apron, dumbfounded. “I’ll give you two a minute to look over the menu.
Let me know if you have any questions.”
I drop my eyes back down to the list of sushi
rolls and sashimi.
“Do you have any questions, Maggie?” Ran peers
over the table at me. His menu is face down and his arms are bent across his
chest as he precariously balances his chair on the back two legs.
“I have lots of questions,” I offer. “But not
about the menu.”
“Is that so?”
The hostess seats another party directly behind
us and I have to scoot my chair in to accommodate them. At the same time I do
so, Ran slams back onto all four legs of his chair and our faces end up no more
than a foot apart. I feel his breath sweep over my skin.
“I say we make this a little fun. How about a
modified game of truth or dare?”
“Modified?” I ask, scooting back slightly, but
my chair bumps into the larger woman at my back and she throws me an
overly-annoyed glare. The curtain must be on some track because the hostess
comes by to pull it further around our table and it’s suddenly just the two of
us again.
“Yes. Six questions total. Three for you, three
for me. But the catch is that if you don’t want to answer the question, then
you have to take the dare.” He raises his hand in the air and flicks his
fingers to wave our waiter over. “And the dare involves eating large amounts of
raw fish you can’t pronounce.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
Ran nods. “Okay, it can be small amounts.”
“I don’t want to answer any of your questions,
Ran,” I retort.
The playful air of banter slips from our
conversation and Ran’s eyes soften. “What are you afraid to tell me?”
“Are you two ready to order?” I jump at the
sound of our waiter’s voice, but am so grateful for it. It’s the sound of my
out.
“Yes, we’ll take six servings of your finest
raw delicacies. And two Diet Cokes.”
The waiter scratches something onto the notepad
held in his hands and leaves our table. Ran hasn’t stopped looking at me, even
when he placed our order. If feeling someone’s stare could ever be a physical
pull, this is it. It’s like there’s some charged line between his eyes and my
face and I can feel it hot on my skin, tugging me toward him.
“Delicacies?” I ask. “I thought you were going
to order something gross.”
Ran’s phone pulses on the table, just like it
did yesterday, and just like yesterday, he ignores the call. I wonder why I
always seem to be more important than the person on the other end.
“Delicacies are almost always gross, Maggie.
Escargot? Caviar? Pâté? They all achieve both delicacy, as well as disgusting,
status. It has to be the same with Japanese food.”
After a ten minute wait that I fill with
unnecessary glances toward a television hung on the wall behind Ran that plays
some college football game, texts to Cora asking how study hall is going, and
even checking the weather app on my phone, our food appears in front of us.
“Yep, I was right. Delicacy equals disgusting.”
Six portions of brightly colored fish, goop,
and something else that I can’t even form a description for, stare up at me,
mocking my stomach.
I catch the waiter’s elbow. “Can I get a bowl
of steamed rice?” He nods and heads toward the kitchen.
“Rice? What’s that for?”
“A buffer,” I reply, snapping my chopsticks and
grasping one in each hand.
“Fair enough.” Ran takes his chopsticks in his
hands and sands them over one another, like he’s readying for a duel. “I go
first.”
“What happened to
ladies
first?” I gulp in a drink of my soda.
“You forfeited that when you said I made you
uncomfortable.” He’s still sliding his chopsticks over one another as he
speaks. His eyes meet mine. “So that leads me to my first question. Why do I
make you uncomfortable?”
I should have known that’s where he would go
with this. I glance down at the revolting plate in front of us, then back up to
Ran. His face holds an expectant look that makes me sweat all over. I grip onto
my chopsticks tighter to keep them from falling onto the table.
One more look from the food to him and then I
dip my wooden utensils down, retrieving a one-inch piece of purple fish meat
that’s draped over a bed of sticky rice. I pop it in my mouth and shoot Ran a
victorious smile.
“I see how you’re going to do this,” he says,
and though it should be a playful tone, it sounds more aggravated than
anything.
“My turn,” I mutter around the slimy contents
in my mouth. After swallowing, I take a deep breath. “Why did you decide to become
a paramedic?”
I take four or five more long, nervous sips of
my Diet Coke, keeping my lips on the straw because I need to occupy them before
more questions fly out of my mouth. I don’t know how I’m going to limit it to
three.
“I liked the idea of being the first one to
arrive at the scene.”
“That’s morbid.”
“No, it’s not,” Ran defends. “I wanted to be
there to provide comfort in times of distress. To be a calming force amid the
chaos.” He presses his palms flat on the table. “Okay, my turn.”
I straighten up in my seat, ready for the
interrogation to continue.
“What did you see in Brian? I know I don’t know
you well, but he’s a first-rate loser.”
Brian
. What
did I see in him? I saw someone who noticed me when no one else seemed to. I
saw someone who held me when I cried about my mom, who assured me that he was
the right person to give myself to for the first time—and every time
after that—and I saw someone who was out of my league, yet still seemed
to want me.
Ran taps his chopsticks on the table, awaiting
my answer. I look to him, then lift up another piece of sushi and drop it in my
mouth. The texture of this one makes me gag, but I bite it back and plaster on
another haughty smile.
“My turn again,” I mumble.
Pulled down by the obvious disappointment from
my answer avoidance, Ran’s shoulders fall and his shirt crumples at his waist.
“O
-kay
.” He drags out the word and
very slowly tilts his head.
“I’m sure you’ve seen all kinds of horrific
motorcycle accidents, so why would you ride on that deathtrap on wheels?”
Ran gives me a look of utter frustration.
“Maggie, is that seriously what you want to use one of your questions for? To
ask me why I drive a motorcycle?”
I nod my head, hoping he believes it, because I
really want to know so much more. I could compose a list as long as the
phonebook with questions that I want answers to regarding Ran.
“I drive a motorcycle because I remember my
biological father driving one.”
Something deep inside me sinks. Like the crack
that Ran’s opened up in his confident exterior pulls me right through it. I
don’t want to know this about him. I don’t want to see a vulnerable side to
him. And I don’t want to picture a four-year-old Ran with a motorcycle-driving
dad.