The Distance Between Us(42)

“No, of course not. I already told you my parents like you.”

I don’t doubt that anymore now that I know his parents don’t think he’s dating me. “Tomorrow afternoon would be better than morning for me.”

“How about two?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Caymen?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to hang up. If you need to talk some more I have time.”

The knot in my stomach loosens with the suggestion, and just as I’m about to open my mouth a girl’s voice sounds on his end.

“Xander, what’s taking so long? Are you on the phone?”

“Yes, sorry to make you wait. I’ll be right down. Give me five minutes.”

“Who’re you talking to?” she asks.

“A friend.” A door shuts and then his voice is louder in the receiver. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay. Sounds like you have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow at two. Bye.” I hang up before he can stop me, proud my voice sounded casual because it feels like someone has their hands clamped around my throat. No more phone calls. They don’t help.





Chapter 28



I wait on the curb. Every minute that passes after two o’clock feels like an eternity. I think that maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe Sadie Newel told him he couldn’t talk to friends late at night and take them on “career days.”

At 2:07 his car rounds the corner. He parks and steps out.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” My body still reacts to him like it always has, my heart picking up speed, tingles spreading through my arms and up my neck.

He looks over my shoulder to the shop and then back to me. “You ready?”

I nod.

He lifts a hand to my elbow. “Are you okay?”

I meet his eyes and want to say, “No, I still feel like crap. My mom is keeping secrets, I’ll probably be homeless in a month, my dad ran out on me, and you have a girlfriend we’re both pretending doesn’t exist.”

I just say, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

He must not believe me because he pulls me into a hug. I close my eyes and breathe him in.

“I’m here,” he says into my hair.

“For how long?” I want to ask. “You’re a good friend,” I say instead, and then untwist myself from his arms.

The ride is a quiet one until Xander pulls into the airport.

“Um . . .” I watch a plane take off then turn my shocked gaze on Xander. “Are we flying somewhere?”

“You’re not afraid of flying, are you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ve never been on a plane before?”

“No.” And maybe I am afraid because my palms start to sweat.

“Really?” He studies me for a moment as though trying to figure out a puzzle.

“You know I told my mom I’d be back tonight, right?”

“Yes. You will be.”

“Okay.”

It wouldn’t have surprised me if Xander stepped into the cockpit of the private jet we boarded and started up the engines. But, thankfully, he didn’t. There was a pilot waiting for us.

We settle into seats that face each other. He grabs a bottle of water from a cabinet beneath his seat, takes a sip, and hands it to me. Then he retrieves one for himself.

“Pre-sipped beverages? This flight is so accommodating.”

I’m rewarded with a smile. It doesn’t last long enough, though, and I try to think of something else to say to bring it back. It’s a good distraction, and I’ve missed his smile. I should tell him that. I don’t.

His attention is on the screen of his cell phone and he starts texting or writing an email or something. I slip off my shoes and bring one foot beneath me, trying to get comfortable, trying to forget I’m sitting on a plane that’s about to be airborne.

He shifts over a little and pats the space next to him. “You can put your feet up here.”

“You don’t have a feet phobia?”

“Does such a thing exist?”

“Sure, it’s a real condition. There are groups, therapists, the whole nine yards.” I slide my feet onto the seat next to him, my ankle brushing against his thigh. “No shallowness of breath? No rapidly beating heart?”

He rests one hand on my foot as he continues to mess with his phone. His eyes meet mine in amusement. “Are those the indicators? I might have an issue after all.”

Why does he have to say stuff like that? Before him, I thought I knew if a guy was flirting with me. But he says things so subtly, so smoothly, that it’s hard to tell if it’s purposeful or if he’s just playing along with my jokes.

Maybe I should just ask him, straight out. What does your girlfriend think of me? That’s a fair question. “Xander?”

“Yes?”

“What . . .”

He puts his phone down and gives me his full attention.

“What are you doing on your phone? Words With Friends or something?” I’m such a wimp. Once it’s out in the open, maybe he’ll start treating me like he has a girlfriend.

And that’s not what I want. This is a problem.