Say You Still Love Me(87)

“Really?”

“Really.” He smirks. “I could get in a lot of trouble for it.”

“Well . . .” I pull the lever on the underside of the chair and adjust it to sit higher, and then push off against the cold marble tile with my sore toes and let the chair spin once. “It’s a good thing I’m not just anyone.”

“No, you definitely aren’t.” He smiles secretively as he reaches for a ballpoint pen. He always liked fumbling with things. Usually it was a cigarette.

“Do you still smoke?” I haven’t smelled tobacco on him.

“Nah. Well, maybe once in a while, if I’m at a party. But I don’t go to too many parties.”

“I’m glad you quit. And speaking of parties, Ashley’s planning a housewarming at our place. You should come.”

He nods slowly. “I’ll think about it.”

Not exactly the answer I was expecting. I hesitate. “Do you mind that I’m here?”

“No,” he answers without missing a beat, but says nothing else.

Where did my easygoing, carefree boy go?

“Is anyone else in the building?”

“Just you and me. Well, this guy’s trying really hard.” He leans over and hits the cursor on the keyboard twice. One of the monitors flips to the back of the building, to where a black squirrel is perched. “He got in through a vent last week. Set off a bunch of alarms for the night guys.”

Awkward silence falls over us, with nothing but the white noise and the sound of Kyle clicking his pen repeatedly to keep us company. And for a split second my insecurities soar, convincing me that I’ve misread everything about Kyle so far. Maybe he isn’t as perceptive as I give him credit for; maybe he’s only now cluing in to the fact that I’m not just here for a friendly chitchat.

Maybe he’s wishing he hadn’t told me that he’s single.

Maybe he’s wondering how he’s going to get himself off the hook.

“God, this is so boring,” I finally blurt out.

Kyle laughs. “It can be.” He glances at his watch. “Just under two hours left.”

That’s two hours for me, with Kyle.

To talk about nothing. And everything, if I can get him to open up. I plan on taking every second that I have to try.

“I’m hungry. You hungry?”

He frowns. “Didn’t you just come from dinner?”

“A five-thousand-dollar-a-plate one.” I grab my phone. “I’m ordering us food.”




“I can’t believe you have a burger joint in your favorites,” Kyle mutters, biting into a french fry.

I hold my phone up so he can see the list, while leaning over the plastic container to take a sizeable bite out of my burger.

He frowns at my screen. “Them and every other restaurant within a five-mile radius, apparently.”

“Don’t judge!” I mutter, shielding my full mouth with a hand. “I work long hours, so I don’t have time to cook. I end up ordering in.”

“But you know how to cook?”

I consider a clever answer as I finish chewing and swallowing. “Does boiling eggs count?”

Kyle shakes his head, laughing. “Boiling eggs does not count.”

I shrug. “I usually grab a salad or something from Christa’s, but at least once a month I get a craving for Alejandro’s. And . . . hmmm.” I moan through another bite. “So worth it.”

He watches me a moment, a pensive gleam in his eyes, as I suck a glob of ketchup from my thumb. I’m wearing a $3,000 dress and devouring a greasy fast-food meal.

“I look absurd, don’t I?”

“You’ve never looked absurd a day in your life, Piper. You’re incapable of it.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, then why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s just . . . you realize how weird this is, right?”

“What? You and me, sitting here together after all these years?” Because I think it’s amazing.

He holds his burger up. “Naming a burger joint Alejandro’s.”

Oh. “It is,” I agree. “But they have all these different toppings, like breaded poblano peppers, and pico de gallo, and chimichurri. Can’t remember what else.”

“Peanut butter?”

“What?” I cringe. “Nobody puts . . . Oh my God. That’s right!” I press my hand to my mouth as a wave of nostalgia hits me. “Eric does that!”

“He swore it brought out the flavor of the bacon. He put it on his pancakes, too. That and mustard.” Kyle shakes his head. “Fucking guy. Used to love grossing me out.”

“Does he still do it?”

Kyle inspects his remaining fries. “I don’t know. I haven’t had a burger with him in years.”

“You know, I caught Ashley doing that the other day. Mustard on her pancakes.”

He cringes. “How is Ash, anyway?”

“She’s good. She’s substitute teaching, and trying to get a full-time position. And she’s a wannabe event planner. She also sells hand-knit blankets, but it takes her months to finish one.”

Kyle nods slowly. “She always was artsy.”

“Still is.”