His question made me pause. I didn't want to flat-out admit to being eight; I wasn't prepared to lie to him like that. But at the same time, what do I say? No, I'm not eight. My soul was a 25-year-old woman who was preying on you.
Yeah, that sounded a lot creepier than just lying my ass off and hoping he never notices.
"Understood," he said quietly. "You'll have to tell me that answer when you are comfortable. Something tells me that there is a story behind your silence."
"Yeah," I admitted. Whether I was admitting to being eight or that there was a story, we both knew the answer.
"So, you are going to just up and leave? Your mom knows you have a cell phone, right?" I joked, trying to infuse some fun back into the conversation.
"Yeah, but no cell phones are allowed during basic training. I don't know what she is thinking," he muttered.
