From the Jump(23)

“What I’m trying to say”—Phoebe raises her voice to be heard over the monkey sounds—“is that I can’t be weak with Mac. Not just because it’s a bad idea for me, and maybe even for him, but because it’s bad for everyone.”

“It’s bad for the group,” I say, catching on. It makes sense: Phoebe has always found it easier to look out for everyone around her than just for herself.

“So, for the sake of the group, I solemnly swear that I won’t allow anything to happen between Mac and me again. And you . . .” Phoebe holds out her hand like I’m supposed to shake it.

I grab it without thinking, but then I’m stumped. “And I . . .”

“Solemnly swear . . .” she prompts.

It hits me that she wants a promise that I won’t hook up with Deiss, which only causes me to laugh awkwardly. I’m happy to do anything that might help her not get hurt in the long run, but I can’t say the words she wants to hear. Deiss has zero romantic interest in me. I’d sound delusional.

Phoebe’s eyes search my face. “Oh my gosh,” she whispers. “Do you like him? Have you always?”

“Of course not.” My voice has gone prim, and the sound of it makes me cringe. I hate when I talk like this. It makes me seem cold, and people always seem to shrivel in response. I grab Phoebe’s hand before she can recoil, and I shake it firmly. “I solemnly swear that I won’t ever allow anything to happen between me and Deiss.”

“That sounds final,” a voice says from behind us.

I whip around to find Deiss standing in the open door, three cups of coffee balanced in his hands. Heat surges up my back, flooding into my face. I have no doubt I’ve gone a blistering shade of red.

“Interesting.” Deiss tilts his head, his gaze perusing the length of me in a way that feels like actual hands on skin. “I didn’t realize that hadn’t been decided until now.”





CHAPTER 7


You’re quiet,” Deiss says forty minutes later as we head down the wooden path through the jungle to meet the group for the estuary cruise. “Are you trying to prevent yourself from flirting with me?”

“Funny.” I still can’t look at him. And not just because he caught Phoebe and me making that ridiculous pact. Despite having taken a clear and deliberate stand against makeup this morning, I still feel naked heading out into the world without it on. Even my own mother hasn’t caught me with a bare face since she took me to get a free makeover at the Macy’s counter two towns over and delightedly declared, “Now you’re ready to be seen in public.”

My hand reaches for the hem of the printed skirt that swishes against my thighs, but I stop myself before I can smooth it down. In the five minutes I had alone, I was able to unearth a simple, fitted white tee to wear with it in hopes it will make my au naturel face and hair seem like a fashion choice rather than an inability to groom myself. Strappy leather flats finish off the look. It’s classic, a style I always revert back to when one of my design projects starts to feel fussy or out of control. Today, however, it’s failing to deliver the comfort it usually provides.

“I’m not sure what you heard,” I say coolly, “but you’ve misinterpreted my part in the conversation.”

“Did I?” It’s ridiculous how blasé he’s capable of sounding, like he’s whistling carelessly without making a sound. “It seemed pretty clear-cut to me.”

My bare toe stubs against a wooden slat that’s slightly higher than the others, and I stumble. Deiss’s arm flies around my waist. He holds me firmly against his side. It’s warm and unyielding, and I stay there for only a moment before pulling myself free.

“Uh-oh,” he says. “Do we need to confess that to Phoebe?”

I ignore him and walk faster, rounding the corner toward the lobby. I can feel the flush in my cheeks, and as an unwilling victim of his mouth trap and the participant in a wildly embarrassing pact, it feels more imperative than ever that I don’t allow Lucas Deiss to affect me. Luckily, the rest of the group is waiting outside for us, and Mac spots me first. He bounds our way like an excited puppy. Before I can properly brace myself, he’s got me in a bear hug and is swinging me around like a tetherball.

“Livitron!” He plops me down and dips his head so our faces line up. “You got freckles! They’re so tiny, like your cheeks have been sprinkled with fairy dust.”

He smiles like a kid, and I don’t have the heart to tell him that people don’t just sprout freckles; they’re born with them and are quickly trained to smother them under a dewy layer of very expensive foundation.

“They were giving them out on the plane ride over,” Deiss says, coming up behind me.

Mac looks intrigued, like he doesn’t believe him, but he’d like to.

“They gave me an option,” I agree. “Beef and a spray tan or chicken and freckles.”

“Both only last for six to eight washes,” Deiss says.

“We should start an airline that really does that,” Mac says.

“We can call it the Sky Spa,” Simone says. Her focus shifts to me. “I heard your room fell through last night. How awful! You could’ve stayed with me, you know.”

I blink in surprise. I can’t help wondering whether her sudden generosity is due to my need or the fact that she doesn’t like the idea of me staying with Deiss any more than Phoebe did. That’s unfair, though. Simone has always been generous in her own way. I can’t count the number of times she’s claimed a beautiful dress wasn’t her color or lamented the way it hung on her figure, insisting I take it off her hands. Miraculously, this always seems to happen right when I’m getting ready for a date or some other social event. Also miraculous: this trend started right after the first time she and I went shopping, when Simone ended the day with her arms full of bags and I hadn’t even been able to find a decent pair of earrings that wouldn’t max out my card.