From the Jump(37)

“Oh.” They’re probably expecting me to get my own ride. I leave several hours after them, and the back seat of their car isn’t made for three to sit comfortably. I’d better figure out what’s going on with my card before then. A three-hour taxi can’t be cheap.

“Phoebe used Mac’s points to get you on the same flight as us,” he says casually, as if booking me on a different flight is the most natural thing in the world, “so you can just give him whatever refund you get from the airline.”

“He’s got to cancel that, Deiss.” A last-minute flight will be crazy expensive. The only way I was able to justify the price before was the circuitousness of the route bringing down the cost. “I don’t even know if they’ll refund me. They’ll probably just offer credit.”

“So, see if you can transfer the credit into Mac’s name.” Deiss shrugs and pads over to his shoes. “Or buy him a beer. His agency books all of the flights to his modeling jobs, but the points end up in his name. You know Mac. He’s not using them. He probably thinks they’re a user rating and he gets bonus points every time a flight attendant wants to sleep with him.”

“Um.” I hesitate. “Well, thank you.”

“Thank Phoebe.” He grabs the keys and holds one out. “And Mac, I guess. But mostly Phoebe. She booked you on the flight. All I did was call dibs on driving so I wouldn’t get stuck in the back with you and Simone. Speaking of whom . . .”

“We can’t tease her anymore,” I say obediently, reaching for my key.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, his eyes meet mine over the joined line of our arms. They’re sharply blue, and the intensity in them makes my stomach flip. His tongue slips over his bottom lip, drawing my attention down to his mouth.

“Listen, Liv,” he says hesitantly. “About last night. I really was just trying to calm you down. I had no intention of kissing you.”

“I know,” I say quickly, feeling a pang of hurt. It’s not as if I thought he was actually coming on to me. Surely he doesn’t feel like I’m some naive girl who believes he’s going to become her knight in shining armor overnight. He’s Lucas Deiss, and I’m the Ice Queen. I understand exactly who he is. It’s offensive that he doesn’t have the same understanding of me. “You were trying to distract me from the elephants.”

“Exactly.” He still doesn’t let go of the key, and for some reason, I don’t, either. “So, I think it would be best if we don’t mention it to anyone.”

“There’s nothing to mention.”

“It’s just that Simone was convinced we were in here showering together, and then Phoebe started talking about that pact again.” He shakes his head and lets go of the card. My arm drops to my side. “It’s amazing to me that we’ve all managed to stay tight for eleven years without any rules, and now, suddenly, swearing under oath is required to keep the peace.”

“So, Phoebe made you say it, too? That you wouldn’t hook up with me?” My breath catches as I wait for his answer. A part of me hopes he didn’t say it, because I like that Deiss doesn’t adhere to social rules. But another part of me hopes he did, because bending to something like that would be a sign that, like me, he needs this group. He’s always felt like the most tenuous of the five of us. Every time he appears at Third Thursdays, I find myself breathing a sigh of relief.

“Yep. Me and Simone both.” He grins wryly. “I had to hold up my hand and repeat after her. I told you she becomes a dictator on vacation.”

I exhale a laugh of relief. “I hope you feel bad now for teasing me about saying it on the patio.”

“If I feel bad,” he says seriously, “it’s because I seem to have just joined the one cult in the world that bans communal fornication.”

I stifle a laugh and roll my eyes instead.

“Let’s go to dinner,” he says.

I shake my head. “I need to blow-dry my hair.”

“Please, Liv.” He makes his eyes unfairly soulful. “I need food.”

With a sigh, I toss my brush on the dresser and follow him toward the door.



* * *



—

“I can’t believe Deiss never came back last night.” Simone pushes her plate away from her like the sight of the fresh, vibrantly colored fruit she’s chosen from the breakfast buffet disgusts her. We’re on the restaurant’s patio, despite the clouds and smell of rain in the air. Phoebe has insisted we soak in every bit of St. Lulia we have left, which was also the excuse she used for forcing Simone and me out of bed and dragging us down here before I’d fully even woken up.

“I can,” I say. The real mystery is who Deiss ended up with. Obviously, it was one of the women on the birthday trip we met at the hotel bar last night, but which one? My vote goes to the sultry brunette with the husky voice. Her name was Zoe, and even I was entranced by her. We talked about graphic design for a while out by the pool before her attention turned to Deiss. After that, she seemed to forget about me completely. It was unfortunate, as she’s been doing freelance for some time, and I really wanted to pick her brain. Apparently, she’d rather get laid on vacation than talk shop.

“We got ditched,” Phoebe says, scowling into her coffee.