Geekerella (Starfield #1)(94)

His shoulders sag a little. “I’m sorry I texted so late last night.”

“It’s fine! Seriously. I know you were off saving the galaxy—” I wave my hand toward Jessica. Getting my drift, he gives me a level look. “I know things are going to get crazy for you for a while—”

“Exactly,” he interrupts, “which is why I wanted to ask you…”

A reporter calls his name. “Who’s that girl?” the reporter asks.

“Are you two a couple?”

“Where’s she from, Darien?”

“Is she the girl from last summer?”

Another chimes in, then another—or maybe it’s a paparazzo, they all look alike now. Even blogs are considered newspapers here. Everything is. Tweets and instas and tumbls and snapchats being fired off faster than warp speed. The sooner we axe whatever rumor is brewing, the better.

“We’re just fr—” I say when Darien steps closer, taking his hands out of his pockets. He reaches for my free hand and laces his fingers through mine. My words catch in my throat.

He turns his face down toward mine, pressing his lips against my ear. “Quick, when the Nox invaded District Eleven in episode thirty-four, what did Carmindor and Princess Amara do?”

My eyebrows furrow. “They…joined forces?”

He nods gravely. “Elle, would you join forces with me? Together we can defeat the Nox.”

I stare at him wordlessly. Cameras continue to flash. Franco woofs, his tail spinning like a windmill.

“Elle?”

Do I want to? Do I really want to? I try to imagine the opposite—a universe without Darien. A universe without his goodnight texts, and teasing words, and those secret smiles he reserves only for me—the ones that are crooked and caring—and suddenly I realize that I don’t like that universe at all. It wouldn’t be nearly as impossible.

And what good is this universe if it isn’t impossible?

“But what about—what about your promo stuff?” I grapple for words. “And marketing? And making alliances and playing the field and—”

He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses it. “I want you, ah’blena. I want to try this thing with you, whatever this is. I want you to be my copilot. And I want to ask you before the movie, in case you really hate it.”

Of course he would be afraid of that. Of course he’d be that big of a doofus. I press my forehead to his, the paparazzi snapping so many photos they blind me like stars. “If you screw up Carmindor,” I say between my smile, so it looks like we’re whispering sweet nothings instead of throwing shade, “then I will personally make your life a living hell on my blog.”

Beneath us, Franco sticks out his tongue, looking from me to Darien expectantly.

“Do you really mean that, ah’blena?”

“I promise-swear, ah’blen.”

He bends close, despite the crowds, despite the cameras, despite Franco’s nose-diving into his suit pocket where he’s probably keeping a snack, and kisses me. Around us, the flashes flare like the thrusters of the good ship Prospero, sending my heart rocketing into the farthest reaches of this impossible universe.