Made You Up(71)

He let out a whispery, relieved laugh. “That’s actually good. I think I’m going to have a heart attack just from this. Anything more might kill me.”

I wedged a hand between us. His heart beat fast and hard against my palm. I whipped it back. “Jesus, you’re right, I think you might actually have a heart attack!”

I was mostly joking, but he pulled back, bashful. His breathing came a little harder. “It would help. If we could . . . reposition . . .”

We shifted away from each other. His breathing returned to normal. We faced each other in the dark, the covers pulled up over us. His hand found mine.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to people touching me.”

“Neither am I.”

There was silence for a few long minutes, until I had an idea.

“Pick someone,” I said.

“What?”

I smiled. “Pick someone.”

He hesitated, then smiled back. “Okay. Go.”

“Are you dead?”

“No.”

“Are you a man?”

“No.”

“Do you live in a foreign country?”

“No.”

Female, alive, from the US. Maybe he hadn’t gone for obscure.

“Do you have anything to do with East Shoal?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Shot in the dark. “Are you in the club?”

He paused. “Yes.”

“You’re Jetta.”

He shook his head.

I frowned. “Theo?”

“No.”

“Well if you’re not either of them, you’d have to be me.”

He blinked.

“It’s me?” I said.

“I couldn’t think of anyone else,” he said.

He inched closer and opened his arms; I crawled in and rested my head on his shoulder. He whispered something in German. I closed my eyes and placed my hand over his heart again.





Part Three: Rubber Bands





Chapter Thirty-five




Miles fell out of bed at one-thirty in the morning, panic flooding his face.

“I have to go.” He stumbled his way into his clothes. I sat up, shook off drowsiness, and pulled the comforter up to cover my chest.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered back.

“Shoes . . . where are my shoes?”

“Next to the window.”

He grabbed them and shoved them on his feet. “My dad knows I never work past midnight.”

“What does he do if you’re not there when you’re supposed to be?”

Miles stopped and looked at me. Then he found his jacket on the floor and slung it over his shoulders.

“Come here.” I opened my arms. He perched on the edge of the bed, body rigid. I turned his face toward me and kissed him. “Can you be here Monday morning?”

“Sure.”

I kissed him again and handed him his glasses. “Here.”





Chapter Thirty-six




I couldn’t stop smiling at Finnegan’s the next day. The customers definitely left me bigger tips, but that could’ve been because I wasn’t staring at them like they were bugged.

Tucker noticed.

“Why’re you so happy?” he grumbled, shoving bills into the register. The register shook when he slammed the drawer closed.

“Am I not allowed to be happy?” I asked. Still, I wiped my smile away. Guilt knotted my stomach. I wanted to tell him what I’d learned from June, but this was the most he’d spoken to me in days. I grabbed Finnegan’s 8 Ball. Did I do something wrong?

My sources say no.

Tucker glanced sideways at me. “You’re acting like you won the lottery. Just tell me it doesn’t have anything to do with Richter.”

“Fine. I won’t.” I’d apologized a million and one times. I’d taken shifts for him at work, done my own discussion papers during English class, and hadn’t asked him for a damn thing. I didn’t care if he was mad at me. He had no right to comment on what I did with Miles.

He turned to face me. “You’re kidding. You’re still hanging out with him, after he did that to me? After everything he’s done?”

“It’s none of your business what I do with him, Tucker.” I lowered my voice so the couple sitting at the closest table wouldn’t overhear.