Talk To Me

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"Care if I smoke?" I ask him as we reach the boat, fresh breeze from the ocean waking me up by the minute

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"Care if I smoke?" I ask him as we reach the boat, fresh breeze from the ocean waking me up by the minute. Frankly I've needed a secret since I talked to Chad but I'd almost forgotten the pack I had in my purse.

"Only if you don't care about dying early." I giggle at his response, falling in step behind him. Some people take anxiety medication but I just go for a cigarette or two.

A habit I picked up young when it was the only vice available to me... and once I realized how much my father hates smoking it stuck.

"Talk to me." Max says, hoping behind the bar on his boat.

Ugh.

Where to even start?

"I don't want to be here." He raises an eyebrow at my choice of words, setting to work on a cocktail. "Not here, here. I didn't want to be in Monaco." I correct myself.

Because of all the places I could be in Monaco, here with him is the only place I want to be.

"Oh, so terrible to be in one of the most beautiful cities in the world." He pokes fun, sliding me a vodka pineapple across the bar.

A small smile slips onto my face. "That parts not so bad. But I've been in New York the last few years."

He wrinkles his nose in disapproval, "New York? You actually like it there?"

"It's my home."

"Isn't Canada your home?" Eh, is anywhere at this point? My passport is Canadian so that has to count for something at least.

"Touché. On paper I suppose, but I haven't lived there much." A small sigh escapes me at the words.

Max eyes me curiously, "Where have you lived?"

"At this point, all over. London, New York, Italy and Tokyo for a bit."

"Well well, aren't you a world traveler." His voice dips with sarcasm that I match with my own.

"Says the one who spends most weeks on a different continent than the last."

"Touché." He lets out a low laugh, joining me on the bar stools. "How have you had time to live so many places already?"

Lots of money and a total lack of parental guidance, but the answer doesn't really roll off the tongue. "My parents aren't... really present."

"Lucky you." He snorts, "So how did you end up here if you didn't want to be?"

Giving him the short version. "My father forced me."

Max swigs his drink before he answers "I understand that. Dad's are hard." He gives me a knowing look and a flash of pain crosses his eyes.

I realize all at once, he does know.

I've heard stories of Max's dad, everyone has. But looking at him now I fear the worst of it is true. A wave of sympathy swells in my chest. "I bet you do." I say softy.

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