Page 54 of Black Reign

“You should come with me.”

“Where?”

“My gym.”

I look at him.

“Why?”

He blinks.

“To train.”

“Yes. I understood this part.”

Another blink.

“What part did you not understand?”

“Why I should want to.”

His smile falters.

Small.

Barely noticeable.

I feel guilty immediately.

Not because I want him.

Because Marc hasn't actually done anything terrible.

He's pleasant.

He's attractive.

He bought breakfast.

He probably kisses well.

This should be enough.

For most people, perhaps it is.

For me, physical attraction lasts approximately as long as it takes a man to begin explaining something I already understand.

Then my brain wanders away and leaves the rest of me behind.

Marc is still talking when I glance toward the street.

Paris moves beyond the café awning in soft gray morning light. Taxis. Bicycles. A woman walking two ridiculous little dogs in matching sweaters. Someone carrying flowers beneath one arm.

Normal people beginning normal days.

People who meet in cafés instead of encrypted networks.

People who know one another's names before developing feelings.