Somewhere Only We Know(42)

“Are you trying to see into my soul?” he asked. His body was shifting now, he was taking off the shirt.

“Yeah. And I see a black void. Congratulations, you have no soul.” And try as I did to stop it, my gaze shot down to Jack’s shirtless torso.

Are you freaking kidding me? Good gravy, he was pleasing to look at. All lean, corded muscles and smooth, tanned skin. I wanted to throw the shirt into his face in frustration.

He took the shirt from me. “Thanks.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Stop trying to be … seductive.”

“What! You’re the one standing there while I change.”

“Don’t say ‘thanks’ like that.”

“Like how?” He pulled the shirt on.

“All … thanks.” I tried to make my voice low and liquidy like his but it was pretty much impossible. That voice was patented and preserved forever by the Jack School of Undercover Hotness.

What am I even …

The hallway felt claustrophobic—hot and, somehow, the air was thick.

Jack folded up his button-up neatly and tucked it under his arm. “You’re so hot and bothered by this entire situation.”

The words “hot and bothered” were really too much. I actually fanned myself with my hand. “Well! I mean!”

He stood there, waiting for me to say more, but I couldn’t and instead started laughing. He tried not to laugh but I reached over and poked his abs (which I now knew were pretty rock hard) and made him.

As we walked back to the café, he draped his arm around my shoulders and the ease of it was so pleasant I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

When we sat down, I noticed a book sitting by the plate of cookies. “What’s that?”

He glanced down at it. “Oh, a book I ordered.”

“About what?”

“Uh, a book of photos.”

“Really? Cool,” I said, looking down to see it. “Can I see?”

He handed it to me. “It’s an old collection of photos by this photographer I like.” His voice was so mumbly that I barely understood him. He was being shy about this.

I flipped through the thick pages of the book. “Wow. These are amazing. It’s Hong Kong, right?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, the photographer is Fan Ho! Arguably the most significant Hong Kong photographer.” His words were clearer now, animated and lively.

“Wow, you must be a big photo buff, then?” I asked, looking through the photos. They were beautiful—a glimpse into everyday, old Hong Kong.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s not a big deal.” Jack leaned forward, his discarded shirt a cushion for his elbows. “Change of subject. What do your parents do?”

God, that question felt like a million years ago. A million years before seeing shirtless Jack ago. I closed the book.

“My parents? Oh.” I stalled, trying to think of something. But then, why lie about this detail? It would mean nothing to him, he of zero K-pop knowledge. “My mom’s a paralegal and my dad’s a teacher.”

“What does he teach?” Jack leaned forward, propping his face into his hands.

“Middle school algebra.”

“Nice. Are you good at math?” Jack asked with a smile, as if he already knew the answer.

“Are you?” I asked in response.

“Well, shouldn’t we both be good at math?”

I smiled. “Give me a break. No one thinks that anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hi, did you not grow up in America?”

“I mean, the math thing—that was the least of my problems.”

“What were the bigger problems?”

It was weird—we were in this very public place, but suddenly it felt so intimate. “Um, I don’t know. I always felt quite separate from other kids my age.” It was true. I was so focused on performing as a kid.

My pulse quickened then; I could feel my heartbeat at the base of my throat. It happened to me when I got anxious. It occurred to me that I wasn’t sure when I’d be back in my hotel room, back to my meds. That made me more anxious, so I subtly dropped my hands onto my lap under the table. Then I took my right index and middle fingers and placed them on my left wrist, feeling for a pulse.

“How were you separate?” Jack asked, oblivious to any weirdness.

I felt it then, the gentle beat under the thin layer of skin. It calmed me immediately and I counted the first few beats in my head. One. Two. Three. After a few seconds it would slow down and that would help.

“Oh. I had to stay home and watch my younger sister a lot, so I didn’t have many friends to hang out with after school and on the weekends.” That was true. But I also had all my dancing and singing lessons.

“You have a younger sister?” He smiled. “So do I.”

That made me smile back. I could imagine him with a sister to pester. “Oh, yeah, you mentioned her. What’s her name and how old is she?”

“She’s twelve. And her name’s Ava.”

Jack and Ava. I liked filling in these negative spaces of Jack—watching them fill up to form a complete person.

“Cool, my sister’s fifteen and her name’s Vivian. She’s a total jerk,” I added with a laugh. “Is yours?”