Scandalized(29)

No, I think it’s great.

And then I tumble into bed, burrito myself—clothes and all—into my blanket, and fall asleep within minutes.



* * *



I wake up at 3 a.m., feeling woozy and starving, and kick my covers away. Out of deranged hope, I check my new Batphone.

I have four text notifications from Alec. My heart takes off in a dust cloud.

Some things got moved and I have an unexpected free day tomorrow.

I was wondering if you wanted to go down to the beach?

I just realized you’re either working or sleeping.

I hope you’re sleeping.

The last text was sent at midnight, and if he was up then, there is no way he’s awake now.

Right?

Then again, if his body is still on London time, it thinks it’s noon.

Finally, at 3:17 a.m., I can’t help it. I make myself a cup of coffee and text him.

I’m free all day if the offer still stands.

Three dots appear to tell me he’s replying, and my blood turns to static.

You’re up?

I grin, typing, I sent my story and crashed around eight.

Send me your address. I’ll pick you up at seven so we can get out before it’s busy.

My smile feels too big for my face. Did you get any sleep?

A few hours, he responds.

You should rest today.

No way. I’ll exist on California sun, caffeine, and Gigi.



* * *



Because he’s picking me up and I haven’t seen him in anything less than full luxury, I’m obviously expecting a fancy car. So when a bright-red economy-size Ford pulls up at the curb, Alec has to honk for me to realize it’s him. The car’s horn sounds like a high-pitched laugh.

I climb into the car beside him, delighted. “Wow. Sweet ride.”

“I picked this baby up near LAX this morning.” He pulls away from the curb and smiles over at me. “We are going for incognito.”

“I could have picked you up, you know. What kind of Angeleno would I be without a car?”

Alec shakes his head. “I like driving and I never do it in London.” He turns onto Washington and deftly gets into the correct lane to merge onto the freeway.

Music on, windows down, Alec by my side… I let the story, the worries, the entire world slip away for a little bit. I just want to soak up the feeling I have being near him.

He finds my hand, weaves our fingers together, and sets it on his thigh.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“I’m taking you to my favorite beach.”

I take a long look at him in a black T-shirt and baseball hat. Even incognito, he isn’t very incognito. “Is a public beach a great idea, Dr. Minjoon Song?”

“No one will recognize me at this one.”

I laugh. “Yeah, tell that to the mob at the airport.”

He grins at the road ahead of us. “I didn’t expect that, either.”

“You know, that was the first time it occurred to me to google you.”

He glances briefly at me before following signs for the 405 South. “Really? Because I had Yael google you while we were in line waiting for rooms.”

Oh, I’m absolutely sure he did. I bet he had a full background report before he ever offered me use of his shower. “Well, once I have an assistant on 24/7 call, I’ll be better about googling my one-night stands before we hook up.”

He frowns. “We aren’t a one-night stand.”

“Fine,” I relent, grinning at him. “Two-night stand.”

Alec smiles out at the road. “Two-week stand.” He glances at me. “I want to see you as much as I can while I’m here.”

Nodding, I bite my lips to keep my words in: That sounds like just enough time to get attached.

I turn and look out the passenger window at the freeway flying past, the cloudless blue sky above, the concrete jungle dotted sweetly with jacarandas and palms, bougainvillea and pink oleander climbing over the freeway barriers. And then I realize we are driving south.

“Okay, but where are we actually going?” I ask, grinning. “All the nice beaches are north of my place.”

“We’re going to Laguna.”

I gape at him. That’s an hour away.

He does a quick double take. “You said you sent your story in and have the day off.”

“I do, but Santa Monica is right there.”

He laughs. “I want to take you to my favorite place, and I haven’t done this—gotten in a car and driven myself here—in probably ten years.” He looks around, and I wonder what it must feel like to have spent his entire life here until he was almost twenty.

“Do you miss California?”

“Yes and no. I mean, it’s nostalgic, and there are things I love. But I’ve been away almost a decade and a half. I can’t really imagine living here again.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but a weird darkness settles in my chest—for only a second—realizing that we’re fifteen minutes into what is our true first date, and I’m already having the best time. But he’ll fly back to England in a couple weeks, and I might never see him again.

A few minutes of easy silence pass, with music quietly filtering into the car and LA growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.