Dangerous [Bradley Simpson] Sequel to On the Floor (novella)

Chapter Two - London

               I thought he would have been angry, like my mom always  was when I left. James was, after all, the mother hen. I hadn't  expected him to react the way he did, welcoming me back with open arms.  Everything was chipper, until he began asking questions.

                "So, Char—"

                "Adelaide," I interrupted him. "It's Adelaide now."

                "What?"

                "That's my name now," I murmured. "Adelaide."

                 At this point, he had convinced me that driving back to Portland in the  middle of the night was too dangerous, and insisted that I came back to  his hotel with him. He promised me the bed, and that he would sleep on  the couch.

                "But why?" He asked.

                I retold him the same story I gave to Joe without batting an eyelash. Lying had become second nature to me now.

                "Bad boyfriend, huh?" He looked unconvinced.

                I nodded. "You don't believe me?"

                "Tris and I didn't think you'd date again after Brad." He shrugged.

                I didn't, I wanted to yell out so badly.

                "I was only eighteen when we met, James." I chuckled. "Yes, I loved him, but I had to move on."

                "Have you?" He asked.

                I blinked. "It's been six years."

                "That doesn't answer my question."

                "Of course I've moved on," I said.

                "Are you lying to me?" He murmured.

                I shook my head, looking down at the ground.

                "Char--."

                "Adelaide," I reminded him.

                "Why does it matter what I call you? We're alone, he can't hear me."

                "You say it here, you're more likely to say it out there. My name is Adelaide, period."

                He sighed." "It's okay if you still love him, you know?"

                "I never said I didn't still love him... True love never fades, James."

                "So why did you come to find me?" He said, changing the subject after we sat in the quiet.

                "I wanted to see you."

                "And?"

                I sighed in frustration. He had become too wise. "I need your help. I need to find someone."

                "And you think I can help with that?"

                "Do you not want to?" I asked, probably too quickly.

                "Who is it?" He said just as fast.

                No, I thought. Not now. "It doesn't matter."

                "I can't help if I don't know who it is."

                 I thought that, maybe, I could tell him the truth. I had to, didn't I? I  had to find her, but all this time, she had been my secret, and I  wanted to keep it that way.