I glance at him with wonder. “How do you know?”
“I just do.”
After giving him a curious look, I stare back at the chickens. And stare. And stare. Turns out, laying eggs takes time, so I find a palm and sit, leaning my back on it while the giant keeps watching the chickens.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
He turns his face to me, looking confused, so I press my hand to my chest, and his eyes follow it.
“We’ve slept together.” I start counting on my fingers. “And you’ve already bought me dinner. I burned your building.”
His head turns toward me with whiplash at the last words, I’m sure. I choose to ignore his glare and continue.
“I’ve sat on your face.” Another finger.
He starts coughing.
“I’ve touched your, you know, equipment.” I wave my hand in the area of his groin, and he takes a quick step back. “And I don’t know your name. Just that Jerome called you King. It’s weird. We should be on a first-name basis by now.” I shrug. “I’m Maeve. What about you?”
He swallows like he’s nervous to share his name after he shared the literal shirt off his back and returns his eyes to me. “Ezra.”
“Wow. Such a cool name. I don’t think I know anyone with that name.”
He doesn’t reciprocate the compliment and goes back to watching the chickens. It’s not like I expected him to. But it’s not everyday you walk around meeting Maeves,you know?
“I knew your name,” he says in a quiet voice. It almost feels like he shouldn’t be saying it. “Well, at least a part of it. Mae. I just didn’t know it was a real one.” He swallows. “Considering your prison break, I figured it was bogus,” he adds with a slight note of humor in his tone.
“Mae?” I ask, confused, ignoring the prison part. I thought we were past that point.
“Yeah, that’s what they called you in New York?”
“How do you know?” I feel my brows drawing together. “I thought the hospital didn’t give you the name.” I recall telling them the first name that came to my mind—Mae. I didn’t even think about pretending to be someone else. When the nurse asked me about my last name, I threw out “Doe”like they use for unnamed people; that’s what I told Jerome when he hired me on under the table at the coffee shop, and he didn’t ask questions.
“I just did.” He turns away, showing that the conversation is over. I watch the back of his head, hoping he’d turn back and explain how he actuallyremembersanything about me. Other than the fact I might have accidentally caused a fire in his building. I mean, I didn’t even know his first name, and I might have had a couple of weird dreams—accidentally—starring him. And some of them were pretty violent with me stabbing forks in different places.
If he knew my name—a part of it—all this time, maybe he really said it on the plane, and I didn’t imagine it. The turbulence situation suddenly takes on a new level of intimacy, making me feel shy.
“What do you do for a living, Ezra?” I ask, trying to divert attention from the sudden weirdness between us. “I mean other than bounty-hunting my ass to press charges.”
The man owns a whole building in a very expensive district in New York. He’s probably doing something interesting with his life.
He turns to me. His expression changed. “We don’t need to know anything about each other. We wait for rescue to arrive and then we go our separate ways. I’m not interested in you, and you’re not interested in me. I don’t want to know anything.” His heavy stare drills holes in my eyes. They’re like hot lasers trying to put this information into my brain. “And trust me,youdon’t want to know anything about me either.”
What in the ever-loving hell has happened between a few minutes ago and just now?
Trying to save face, I dramatically roll my eyes. “I wasn’t propositioning you. Just wanted to have small talk. We’re stuck here, anyway.”
“Small talk is a waste of time,” he says, turning around, and I flip off his back. My initial assessment of the man being a dick was not wrong. Unfortunately. Fate could be nicer and stick me with a cool person here. But no, I’ve got him, the king of all dickheads, who’s dead set on giving me whiplash with his mood swings.
I eyeball him with furrowed brows, trying to figure out what kind of sand flea bit his ass at night and drank away the blood of the decent guy who covered my legs with his shirt.
He was harsh, but I suppose he wouldn’t change overnight. Maybe it was a fluke before, and today the pumpkin has replaced the fancy carriage after all. Spending a night in his shelter was just a part of surviving. He was an asshole when I met him; he’s the very same one as I’mlearning more about him. Even though he fed me and invited me to his dry bungalow. I appreciate it though. No matter how much he reverts to that person from the coffee shop, I will always be grateful for all the good things he’s already done for me. So I let this one slide.
Still, I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to be told off again like an unwanted insect.
A few moments later, commotion in the chicken community makes me stand up with excitement. I stretch my neck like a giraffe, trying to see what’s happening, and find a rooster jumping on one of the chickens.
“Oh, someone’s getting luck—” The rooster jumps off three seconds later, before I can even finish the sentence. “Shit, that was fast. I’m sorry, lady. I feel for you,” I mumble quietly. But Ezra hears it because a weak smile tugs on his lips.
