Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(56)

“What?”

Luka sends a text and pockets his phone. “You watch Princesses of Philly?”

My cell buzzes. “Everyone does.”

I quickly read the text.

Unhide and tell Nik you just came back from dinner at Retrograde with me. And I got stuck talking to a girl (not Bay) at the bar. Sound good? – Luka A girl.

Not me.

An imaginary scenario shouldn’t put a bad taste in my mouth, but picturing him chatting up another girl at a bar—who could be Mrs. Right—feels awful.

Katya replies with a thumbs-up emoji.

Luka’s brows furrow. “You didn’t used to like watching TV or reading Celebrity Crush magazines.”

He thinks I’ve changed.

I slowly pull out my five-dollar bill, trying to figure out how to approach this conversation. “I tried a lot of things after we…ended.”

“But TV?” He digs into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. “You used to cry at the detergent commercials.”

“They were emotionally manipulative.”

“Bay,” he says like I know you. I was with you.

I can’t exactly stand my ground when past evidence has shown that television doesn’t help my depression. It doesn’t always make it worse, but it hasn’t been my greatest outlet either.

Listening to music helps more. And being with people. Even if “being” is just lying together. Somewhere, anywhere. A park, a bench, the floor.

“Depression doesn’t just go away,” I tell Luka. “What’d you think—we broke up and I’d be happy?”

“Come on.”

“No,” I say, defenses rising. I exit the booth, the waitress and mustached man nowhere in sight. We’re alone here. “You were gone, Luk, and I had to figure out how to cope without feeling like the world was pointless. So I watched some television, and I liked it.”

“Oh yeah?” He throws down cash. “How’d it go afterwards? Screen is black. It’s quiet. You’re alone in your bed. What’d you feel then?”

Fine. I felt fine, and I’m allowed to watch television if I want to—but this is deeper than all of that. “You don’t have to worry,” I say. “It’s not your job or burden—”

“Come on,” he repeats, like I’m punching him in the heart. “Don’t push me away now, please.”

I take a deeper breath, about to toss my own money down.

“Let me pay,” he insists.

I hesitate.

“Please.”

“Okay.” I leave the booth, and as he follows behind, I decide to spin around. To confront him.

But I collide straight into his chest. My heartbeat is stuck in my throat, and Luka clasps my shoulders to steady me.

Our eyes descend each other in a boiling wave.

Then he drops his hands, much faster than I truly want. Distance separates us, this sliver of space that I want to close. If I listen to my heart at all, I know what I need to do.

“Okay,” I say again, but this one has so much more meaning.

“Okay…” He scrutinizes me head-to-toe. “Okay to the list?”

I haven’t agreed to his proposal yet, but the answer is right here. I’m irritated at an imaginary girl and an imaginary chat between her and Luka. It’s obvious.

I need him. Whether it’s closure or something else, I don’t know. But I’m ready to take the risk.

I nod confidently. “Yeah, the list.”

“Okay,” he says, more assured, his lips beginning to rise.

“Now what?” I wonder.

Luka skims me again but then he nods to the door. “I’ll call a cab. We need to get back to the Masquerade before Nik and Dimitri catch on, but tomorrow, the next day, we can figure it out.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Like this just turned into a first date—wait, he paid for me. Was this actually a first date in his eyes?

It’s all I can think about when he holds open the door for me.

I step onto the concrete sidewalk, the night sky dark. In fact, the whole street is nearly pitch-black except for a dim street lamp nearby. We’re in a lifeless part of town.

We move closer to the lamp for light. Further away from the diner. A red brick wall is behind us—what looks like the side of an abandoned mattress factory.

I glance at Luka more than a few times. He’s mostly nonchalant as he calls us a cab. Casual and cool, but he’s almost always that way. I can’t gauge his feelings.

I wonder if his stomach is fluttering like mine. I’m nervous again, but a more excited-nervous than before.

“I can take the bus,” I offer. “It’ll be cheaper, and that way we won’t arrive at the Masquerade at the same time.” We’re doing this. Being together secretly.

This time, for the list.

Luka shakes his head. “I’ll just pay for the cab fare and get dropped off at the Bellagio.”

“That wasn’t…” I take a breath, my nerves jumbling my words. More clearly, I say, “I didn’t mean for you to pay.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Pocketing his phone, he faces me, his back to the street.

“We’ll split it then.” I put my stamp on that, and before he protests, I add, “Did you see the Mets last year? They were so solid.” I make a batting motion. I doubt he’s kept up.