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Apparently he’s not going to reveal the logistics of his surprise.
“You mentioned at one of our late-night Festa hangouts that you loved having fresh flowers around. And I noticed the centerpieces.”
All fresh flowers.
“That was incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. You headed home?”
For a second I think maybe he’ll suggest we get together.
“Yep.”
“I’m still here with Brax finishing up.”
Probably for the best. I’m exhausted.
“But I was thinking.” Brax says something to him and Tris holds his hand over the phone. At least, that’s how it sounds to me. Something about the restaurant he doesn’t want me to hear? “How about a proper date? Sunday night?”
“A proper date?” My heart races at the thought.
“Yes. Not one where we’re planting kisses for reporters or showing up at each other’s places unexpectedly. A planned, deliberate, let’s-get-together date.”
If this date will actually involve sex, yes. Of course I don’t say that. But I’m so ready to take things to that next step. Two weeks of sexual frustration, alleviated for a brief moment—albeit a pretty amazing moment—Monday night, and I am ready.
“Sounds good to me.”
“Great. I’ve gotta go finish up. Call you tomorrow? And keep your Sunday night free.”
“Sounds good. See you later.”
I don’t want to hang up. To stop talking to him. How did this man become the center of my world so quickly? I’m not sure this is healthy.
“Night, Evie.”
He says it like some phone sex operator, and I decide, right then and there, those are the last two words I want to hear at the end of the day from now on.
The thought is terrifying as hell. So much so that I wonder if I’m making some terrible, awful, my-heart-is-going-to-be-broken mistake.
As if I could possibly stop this freight train now that it’s left the track.
28
Tristano
Gravel crunches beneath my tires as I drive down Evie’s driveway. Like many houses on Lake Shohola, it’s set back, off the road. Before I can even get out of the car, Evie comes bounding down the stairs attached to the deck on the house’s left side. Dressed in shorts and a tank top, her hair loose, she makes her way to the passenger side of the car and jumps in.
“I figured you couldn’t see me from the road,” she says, dropping the bag I told her to bring into the back seat. Taking advantage of her position, before she can fully spin back around toward the front, I grab her neck and pull her toward me.
It’s a kiss meant to claim.
To seal a pact made days ago, one we made official by discarding the pretense of being together for any other reason than the obvious one.
“Wow,” she says when we finally break away. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“No?”
I lean back in my seat as Evie buckles up.
