Again, But Better(39)

Babe appears in front of me with Chad next to her.

“What happened?” Babe cries.

“A guy.” Breathe. “Had his hand in my purse.” I look frantically from Pilot to Babe.

“What the fuck?” Pilot’s concern morphs to outrage. He takes a step back, runs a hand through his hair. Chad looks at me blankly, and Babe’s hand whips up to cover her mouth.

“He had his hand in it and he was pulling me back down, and I lunged away and his hand fell away ’cause he was going down the stairs. And I—it’s okay, he didn’t get anything,” I babble softly.

“Oh Mylanta,” Babe whispers. “We have to get a cab. Let’s get back. Come on.” She shoots me a sympathetic look, turning toward a cab stand in the distance. Chad follows, and I fall into step robotically. I focus on trying to quell the panic circuiting through my veins. Pilot’s hand is on my back again.





16. A Million Little Shining Stars



I sit in the middle of the taxi bench. Pilot’s on my left, Babe is on my right, and Chad’s in the front seat. I want to lean into Pilot’s shoulder. I don’t have much shoulder-leaning experience, but I think I could handle it. I don’t do it.

In the silence, my brain replays the night on a loop, my stomach going up and down, like on one of those milder roller coasters with lots of little unexpected drops. I focus on the good parts. Something is happening with Pilot. It makes my heart balloon up in my chest.

After an eternity, we spill out onto the gray concrete outside the hostel.

Babe and Chad get out at their floor, and as the elevator doors close behind them, I blow out a breath. Babe and Chad’s anger made for a quiet, tense cab ride. I want to lighten the mood again. Pilot’s leaning against the railing along the back wall of the lift, staring at the doors.

“Finally,” I say, breaking the extended silence. He turns to me expectantly, and I freeze up.

Finally? Finally what? Jesus Christ. I curve my lips up into a small smile. Smiling is always good. He smiles back, but doesn’t say anything, and then abruptly stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor.

The elevator dings. Nerves snap around inside me as we walk toward the room. I feel like one of those crackling orbs of electricity you see at science museums. When we reach the door, I dig around in my purse for the key. Another eternity passes before I yank it out and plug it into the lock.

“Shane,” he says.

I turn around. He was right behind me, right in front of me now. He’s leaning toward me again, and the world slows. I still don’t know what to do. Where will my arms go! I’m having a hot flash. My hand grapples at the key behind me. I rip it out of the lock and drop it to the floor, jumping slightly as it clashes against the white tile. Pilot jerks his head back. I whip around, swoop to collect the key, plug it back into the lock, twist the door open, drop my purse, collect my suitcase, and speed to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When I emerge fifteen minutes later, Pilot’s seemingly passed out on his single. I slip quietly into my bed. My heart’s in overdrive. I can’t get it to calm down. I snuggle up in the covers and pull my legs into the fetal position. Almost immediately, tears spring into my eyes.

No. Why am I crying? No crying! I twist onto my back, letting the saltwater slide down my cheeks. I gasp in a shallow breath, staring at the ceiling. Seriously, what’s wrong with me? I flash to Pilot at the club, Chad’s face on mine, Babe’s glare, the man’s face on the steps of the Metro, Pilot again outside the door. My study abroad goal list would be ashamed. I wasn’t brave tonight; I was pathetic. And I almost lost my purse. Again. I suck more oxygen. Close my eyes. Stop. Crying.

There’s light tap on my shoulder. My eyes snap open. Pilot’s standing next to my bed. I frantically wipe at any still dripping tears and jolt up to my elbows.

“Hey,” he says, quietly hovering above me. I just look at him. What is he doing? He nods his head in a move-over gesture.

Hesitantly, I scoot to the left side of the twin bed. He sits and lowers himself down next to me, on his back, facing the ceiling. Holy shit. I flatten onto my back again. I suck in one last steadying breath, damming up the waterworks through sheer force of will.

He’s still wearing his jeans and a white T-shirt.

“Are you okay?” he says softly.

I talk to the ceiling. “Yeah … I’m sorry, this is stupid.” Another breath. “I’m just feeling overwhelmed or something.”

“Someone almost mugged you; it’s not stupid to feel overwhelmed.”

I blink up at the ceiling.

“Can I ask you something?” Pilot continues.

“Yeah.”

He turns onto his left side, propping his head up with his arm. I rotate to my right to match—insides in full freak-out mode.

Pilot purses his lips. “Do you think Chad is Santa?”

A laugh bursts out of me. “Dear god, I hope not,” I say shakily.

Pilot grins. “Do you have any siblings?” he asks.

Master of distraction. My eyes drift down to his mouth and quickly back up to his eyes. “No, I’ve got a load of cousins, though. You?”

“Two younger sisters,” he says.

Two younger sisters. Is that why he’s so nice? I smile to myself.