Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (25)

There’s a beat where she’s silent and all I hear is the rain and the buzz of the streetlights.

“Well, you did hurt me,” she whispers.

“I know.” My voice is heavy with regret. “And I’m sorry. Being impulsive has never benefitted me, so I avoid it at all costs. I couldn’t throw caution to the wind and say yes to you.”

Caution to the wind? I rub my face in my hands and then look to see that she’s still giving me her back. With a few strides, I stand in front of her.

“Hear me out, Sage.” When she steps to the side, probably to head to the Weston train station, I stop her with a touch to her arm but drop my hand just as quickly.

“I’m late, Eli.”

Eli. “We can talk in my car on the way there.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going.” I watch her defenses crumble, but not fully.

“Then tell me. I’ll take you.” Doing something for her might just be for my own ego, but I need to know she doesn’t hate my guts for invading her privacy.

She gazes down the sidewalk before looking at me. Hazel on brown. “So you show up at my apartment unannounced, and now you’re forcing me to get into your car?” she deadpans.

“You’ve been in my car before.”

“That’s because of the auction. You could still be a part-time body parts collector.” She eyes me skeptically. “Your actions are proving that theory.”

My nervous laugh doesn’t help dampen the allegations. “Just tell me where you’re going, and I’ll drop you off. You can take a picture of my license and send it to a friend if you want.”

She laughs, and as good as it feels to hear that, I don’t feel at ease yet. “I have no friends, remember?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you can give me a ride.” She pulls out her phone. “I’m headed to the Pint.”

“Downtown?” My curiosity isn’t concealed well, and when she nods, it only makes me wonder why she’s going to a bar. But I don’t ask because there’s only so much I can push.

Inside my quiet car, my mouth feels dry as I try to come up with words.

Sage’s ringing phone cuts off my thoughts, and she answers. From the bits of conversation I catch, I know she’s talking to her brother about a mix-up at the pharmacy with his medication. The next twenty minutes of our car ride are spent with her calling multiple people. I drive slower, but I can’t delay our arrival any longer.

Sage hangs up just before I turn in to the roundabout at the front entrance. She’s ready to hop out, but on instinct I lock the doors.

She whips her head around to me. “This is creepy on so many levels.”

“I think we should talk about what I said at the press conference.”

Sage checks the time on her phone. “It’s fine. Just forget about it.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

She searches my face like she’s trying to believe that I just said those words.

“My date is waiting for me, Eli.”

“What?”

Everything halts. There’s a mess in my brain, and her words make it so much worse. I had just announced Sage as my girlfriend, and she’s going into this bar to meet another guy?

“I’m meeting someone here for a date, and you’re making me late,” she clarifies.

My mouth feels numb. As she reaches for the handle again, I finally unlock the car doors, the collective click resonating. She casts a fleeting glance in my direction, a trace of what I interpret as pity in her eyes.

“But people think you’re my girlfriend. Won’t this be ... improper?” I protest.

She shakes her head, as though hoping my words might make more sense that way. I feel like I’ve bared my soul, but she reacts as if I’ve thrown sand at her.

“You said yourself that the possibility of us is unbelievable,” she says sharply. “And ‘improper’ happens to be my middle name. Goodbye, Eli.”

There it is again. The damn Eli and not Elias. She’s started calling me the nickname when I screwed up, and now she’s sticking to it. I don’t even know why I care; nobody calls me Elias.

Sage climbs out before I can say anything else. Watching her retreat into the bar, I’m restless. As I sit in the driver’s seat, still staring at the door, I’m hoping she’ll run right back to my car. Minutes drag as my gaze remains fixed on the black-framed doors where the Pint’s logo—a foaming beer mug—is etched into the glass.

When someone behind me honks, it jerks me back to reality.

My fake girlfriend just went on a date.

I’m about to drive off to head home like I know I should and reevaluate my life choices. Instead, I pull into an empty spot and park. Then, before I can second-guess myself, I exit the car and head inside the Pint.





TWELVE


SAGE




I’M HAVING A good time. I’m having a good time. I’m having a good time.

Damn it. This whole “speaking it into existence” crap isn’t working, and it’s screwing me over right now. In the nine minutes I’ve been here, Derek has proven to be a real person, not a catfish, but unfortunately, that’s where the positives end. He took the liberty of ordering my drink, opting for a fruity blue margarita with a tiny umbrella. Presumptuous.