Page 32 of How to Kidnap a Fake Date
His jaw tenses, annoyance filling his chiselled face. ‘And reason two?’
‘My family won’t side with you. Sure, they’d assume I’m even more pathetic than they already suspect I am, but they will always have my back.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘It’s notnota threat…’
Roman grows quiet, and the atmosphere in the car intensifies with each passing mile marker.
‘If I go home without a partner, my dad is going to make me marry a man I hate. Because I’m too much of a failure to take on the family business, and he needs someone in that place to aid my sister and brother.’
Silence.
After a few miles, I try to justify myself again, cringing at the desperation in my voice.
‘I just need to buy myself some more time.’
Each tense mile passes with growing agitation. The more I try to say, the more annoyed he grows.
We pass Manchester, and my eyes sting. Between hardly sleeping from nerves and the exertion of dragging Roman’s backside down the stairs, I’m waning. I hoped to get us well into the Highlands before stopping for the night, but it is becoming painfully obvious that I need to rest.
Putting my indicator on, I pull off on the next slip road, leaving the motorway behind. As much as my back will detest me for sleeping in the car, I can’t exactly drag Roman into a hotel all limp and enraged.
After a few twists and turns, I find a rural car park that looks to be part of a walking trail, perfectly uninhabited at the late hour.
Roman glares daggers at me as I get out of the car to stretch out my back, walking off the numb backside I’ve garnered from the drive. Grabbing a pack of wipes, I take myself off to the nearest bush and have a wee, arse to the wind and hoping to God Roman can’t see me in the mirror.
After a quick clean of my rear and my hands, I get back into the driver’s seat and open a bottle of water, taking a long drink. Roman watches me, his eyes still teeming with hatred, but his tongue darting over his lips.
‘Do you want some?’ I ask.
‘Not really when you’ve slobbered in it.’ He spits the words at me, yet swallows hard when I go to put the cap back on the bottle. ‘…but yes.’
I pull out another bottle from the pack behind my seat and shift to hold the open top next to his lips. It’s awkward, and a stream dribbles down his chin as he guzzles it down.
‘Sorry,’ I say, getting a wipe out of the pack and dabbing it on his wet face.
‘When will the drugs wear off?’ he asks.
‘By morning. I think.’
‘You think?’
‘Despite what you think of me, I don’t make a habit of abducting people.’ I give him another drink, watching as he drains the bottle.
‘Can’t say I believe you,’ he says.
‘Well, I guess I should be honoured my first abduction is looking so thoroughly professional.’
‘There might be something you haven’t thought through.’ Roman’s eyes slide to look out of the window as he continues. ‘I need a piss.’
I tense.Fuck.
‘You can’t. You can’t walk.’
‘Doesn’t make a difference. If I can’t go out there, I’m going to have to go in here.’
I picture trying to sleep in a car reeking of wee, and it’s an absolute fucking no-go.
