Somewhere Only We Know(25)

And for maybe the first time in my entire life, I couldn’t muster any words.

“Check, please!” Lucky called out, holding up a hand. Totally in control.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


LUCKY


It was immensely satisfying to see this lovely-faced jerk look flabbergasted for even a second.

I took a moment’s pleasure in it as I waved down the server for our check. I looked at Jack with a lazy, all-too-comfortable speed. “You can pay, right? I don’t have my wallet. S-o-o-orry.”

How great did it feel to be that girl? The bratty, spoiled first date getting her way? I never, ever, ever got to behave this way. Being a diva was not a part I was allowed to play.

Jack’s eyes sparked for a second before he shook his head, reaching for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. I couldn’t help but notice the way he moved. Fluid, self-assured. I had noticed it last night, even in my haze. The way he slid down onto the low bar stool next to me. His swiftness at shielding my body when we hid in the dark street. How he sprang up in that pile of blankets even while half-asleep. That stretch of forearm as he reached for the check.

Get a grip, Lucky. My attraction to this guy was unsettling. Yeah, he was good-looking. But how many celebrity paths had I crossed in the past couple years? Some of the most gorgeous people in the world. The absolute elite of hotness.

I wondered if it was simply timing and circumstance. He didn’t know who I was. That was a big deal in and of itself. It changed the dynamic from every other guy I had known, immediately.

Until I spent so much time with someone who didn’t know who I was, I didn’t realize how much I missed it. The luxurious normality of it. So that every reaction from Jack—flirtation, interest—was merit based. It was because of me. Not my fame, not because he wanted something.

When you were famous, it didn’t matter what you looked like, what kind of stuff you were actually made of—grit, kindness, intelligence. Everyone wanted a piece of you. They were willing to tolerate any behavior if you shined some of your light on them. To warm them, to make them feel part of something special.

After he paid for breakfast, I felt a melancholy settle in. I didn’t want this feeling to end. Only an hour earlier I had wanted to book it back to the hotel, to make sure I wasn’t caught. And now …

Now I had tasted the joy of a carby breakfast and wanted more.

Jack pushed his chair back and stood. “So what kind of punishment is in store for you? Are they going to make you recite Bible verses?”

And as he stood over me, hands tucked into his back pockets, expression expectant and full of good humor, I felt a pang of regret. At having to lie to him. At the circumstances that made regular things impossible.

“Something like that,” I muttered. I actually had no idea. I’d never done anything to get punished before.

“What’s their plan today, anyway?” he asked as I finally got up from the table.

Hm. “Practice,” I said. It was true.

“On a gorgeous day like today?” he asked, stretching his arms out in a wild gesture. “What a waste.”

It was a waste. How many nice days had I spent inside fluorescent-lit dance studios?

“Well, you’re already in trouble. Why not take it further?”

I startled. “What?”

He shrugged. “Let me show you around Hong Kong. Church choir practice sounds thrilling and all, but … would you be in huger trouble if you got in a couple hours later?”

It would be absolutely stupid and selfish of me to do this. It was already eight o’clock—my absence was definitely noted by now. Joseph was probably losing his mind. Ren was most likely combing through the entire city, breathing fire.

And to get into that kind of trouble for a day with this guy? This random, smooth-talking stranger?

It was a fairy tale, a dim idea dreamed up by a tired girl who hadn’t had a day off in weeks. Months.

Years.

I deserved a day off.

“Okay, Jack. Let’s do it.”





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


JACK


HOLY CRAP. IT WORKED. I TRIED TO KEEP MY EXPRESSION neutral when, inwardly, I was aggressively pumping my fists in the air.

When Lucky ducked in the restroom, I sent Trevor a text: I have a huge story. Spending the day with K-pop star Lucky. She has no idea I know who she is. Stay tuned.

While looking at my phone, I noticed a few missed texts from my parents. They asked how I was feeling, if I needed anything. Guilt seeped through me as I texted back saying I was fine and needed a couple days at home.

My dad responded with: Don’t forget we have a meeting Monday morning. Set two alarms so you don’t sleep in like last time.

Ugh. Monday felt light-years away. The thought of waking up early to go to a bank meeting? Made me want this scoop more than ever.

Then my little sister, Ava, texted: You’re lying about being sick, right?

I smiled. Ava was the only one in my family who knew how much I hated this internship. How this gap year was an excuse to stave off college for as long as possible.

Why would I lie about that?

She sent me a poop emoji. And then: Can you come over and help me with my geometry homework?

Ava needed my help with her math as much as I needed help with tying my own shoelaces. She was about five thousand times smarter than me, and unlike me, would probably do all the great things that good Asian kids were supposed to achieve. It ran in her blood, she loved it.