Page 19 of 32 Days in May

Marco tosses his peach pit into a trash can and reaches for another. A doughnut peach. They’re my favorite.

“We should do what they did.”

“Get cancer and die?”

“Jesus, no. We should, you know—”

I do know. Of course I know. The plot of Sweet November is incredibly simple and there’s really only one thing the two main characters do together. “You just said you hated the ending.”

“Let me finish.” He chomps his second peach, chewing much more slowly this time. “Okay, so. Us? Right. Me and you? We date for one month. For all of May. Just May. Only May. While I’m here in Evergreen.”

“Ooooh,” I coo, drawing out the oh as long as I can while I fold my arms over my chest. “You’re still drunk.”

“Actually, I am horribly sober and very hungover. In fact, I never want to see another drink ever again.”

“Did you hit your head?” I demand, my voice coming out full and harsh. “Because I really feel like we left things on a very specific and clear note.”

“Clear?” Marco balks. “We were completely incoherent. You did a front flip into a sand dune.”

I scrunch my nose at him. “You’re such a sore loser! I won fair and square.”

“First of all.” Now he’s the one wincing. “I let you win—no, never mind. Forget it. I had fun last night.”

I run my tongue over my bottom lip. “Okay.” I clear my throat. “I did, too.” Way too much fun.

“So?” Marco’s watching me, eyes sparkling, mouth twitching with a little preemptive smile. Instantly, I regret admitting I had fun. I’ve known the man for twelve hours and already he’s pulled so much out of me. “One month, that’s it. You keep your life, I keep mine. In thirty days, I fuck off. No hurt feelings.”

The man is not joking; he’s looking at me with wide eyes and not a single ounce of irony.

“You’re an insane person. And you don’t know me.” I have more in common with Charlize Theron’s character than I’d like to admit—more in common with her than Marco would enjoy. “I could be a very dangerous psychopath. Obsessed with knives. Obsessed with you.”

Marco rolls his eyes. “You are not obsessed with me. I know my demographic. What else do you have going on? You’re working at a produce stand—”

I yank my head back. “Excuse you. Is this flirting? Is this you being charming?”

“Hey, I’m underemployed, too.” His lips pull back and he almost blinds me with a smile. “Admit it, you’re bored here.”

That’s the point, I want to tell him. I have to be bored. If I’m not, I’ll realize just how much I’m missing out on.

Instead I feel a tiny—minuscule—part of myself actually considering this. Maybe it’s the way he’s holding the rest of his half-eaten peach gently between his index and ring finger that has me flashing back to last night, the way he tangled his fingers in my hair. Maybe it’s because I can hear Liv’s voice in the back of my mind. Look, Mom and Dad are worried. Having a boyfriend would really get her off my case. Having a semi-famous boyfriend would extremely get her off my case.

“Is this like . . .” I look around before I drop my voice. “About last night?” I don’t want to embarrass Marco with a reminder of how our night ended. It’s not like I was in any state to, uh, help the situation. I couldn’t fault someone for wanting to prove themselves.

“Oh, no. No!” He snaps his eyes away, suddenly rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. I think he may even be blushing. “That’s not why I want to date. I want to date you because . . . because why not?”

You have no idea. I busy myself bagging up everything left on the table, ignoring this question. “So,” I say, maybe a hair too loud. “Where do you need to be in June?”

Marco snorts. “Back on planet Earth, far away from here.”

Ouch. “Well, isn’t that nice,” I retort, handing him a bag of peaches. “Take these. Free.”

“Thank you,” he replies and every part of him lingers. His eyes drag over my face, his hands seemingly float to take the bag.

I yank it back. “I thought you were a vampire.”

“Still am. I just happened to watch a very compelling movie.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You know, I hate that you smoke. If you want me to even consider this, you have to stop. And . . . and if you don’t, I’ll call every tabloid and tell them you’re here to spear-hunt whales.”