He nodded, thinking. “Weird she’d try to steal you away from me. But I guess, like, hoes before bros.”
“When she pitched it, she didn’t exactly…know about you. Yet.” My voice was slow and stretchy, a tape at the wrong speed.
He started to laugh. “And why’s that?”
I swallowed. “I’ve gotten my hopes up a lot for things to turn into nothing. I told you I haven’t seen anyone seriously in a while—shit, not that we’re serious—I just mean…”
He grinned at me, eyebrows high, waiting for more.
In a rush: “Just because I didn’t want to jinx it, you know? There’s nothing worse than telling your friends all excitedly about a new guy and then having it fizzle out. And then they’re asking you about it and you feel foolish.” Well, there definitely were a few worse things. Kristen and I knew all about them. “But anyway, then I did tell her about you. On our last night. And she’s so happy for me! But I guess she’s pretty stoked on her backpacking idea. Can’t blame her for trying, right?”
He stretched his arm around my shoulders. My whole body lit up under the weight. “Got it. Well, tell her you’ve got a boyfriend. That’s why you don’t want to move.”
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. “Boyfriend, huh?”
“Kinda feels like it, right?”
I looked away when the eye contact got too intense. “It kinda does.”
“Good. Just don’t become a vagabond right right now. I suck at long-distance.”
“I won’t. But she’s having trouble taking no for an answer. She can be intense when she wants me to do something with her. Hell, she’s the reason I had so much fun at Northwestern—I definitely wouldn’t have, like, gone skinny-dipping in Lake Michigan if it weren’t for her.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Now, that is something I’m sad I missed.”
“I’m sure.” I sipped my beer. “I think she’s just hurting. I’m having a hard time being a good friend.”
“Hurting how?”
Kristen in our hotel suite, Paolo’s blood freckling her jaw: He attacked me.
“I mean, she’s lonely. She has friends there, but not a best friend. Anyway, I wanna hear about you! What did I miss? Are you working on any cool projects?”
“Oh, nothing interesting.” His hand slid from my shoulder to the back of my neck. He hit me with a soft-focus stare, then kissed me. I thought my heart would pound right out of my chest—and for the first time in forever, it was out of elation, not fear.
Boyfriend. He’d called himself my boyfriend. He’d claimed me as his girlfriend. For so long I’d been afraid to hope for it, and now it was happening, it was real, it was better than I’d dreamed. I set my palm on his squared-off jawline, pressing into the stubble there, and kissed him back.
I broke away first, with a shy giggle. “Hi, boyfriend,” I tried.
“？’Sup, girl,” he joked back, then threaded his fingers through mine. “Hey, tell me more about Kristen. I should know more about my girlfriend’s best friend.”
My nervous system sped up, like someone had turned a dial. “She’s the best. Totally bold and adventurous.”
“I like how you two get yourselves into trouble together all over the globe.” He lifted our hands and inspected my nails again. “Still dirty! I still want to hear about this epic hike.”
No. Alarm washed through me, rinsing away the warmth. How could I be in a serious relationship when I kept losing my shit?
“It was, uh, kind of a mess. We got lost, wound up fighting about it. Worst part of the trip, really.” I quaffed at the sudsy beer. My other hand, still in Aaron’s, now felt clammy and cold.
“Whoa, all right. We don’t have to talk about it. What else happened on the trip?”
I set my glass down. “You’re so sweet to ask, but I’m kinda sick of rehashing it. And I care about your life! What’s new?”
He leaned back easily. “Workwise, this big package-design thing just fell through. They decided to find someone on this site where artists bid on work. Cheapest labor wins.”
“Yikes. Aren’t those designers devaluing the work for everyone?”
He shrugged. “I get it, people need to get food on the table. And I’m lucky, I’ve always got the café.”
“Man, nobody can ruffle you, huh?”
He grinned. “I don’t see the point of thinking everyone’s out to get you.”
Like I do. Paolo’s family, the dawning realization he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Local cops, an investigation launched.
“I like how you see the world,” I told him, and gulped my beer.
* * *
—
When the bartender announced it was last call, Aaron and I walked over to his apartment hand in hand. I was determined to keep Chile tucked away, out of sight, out of mind. His roommate wasn’t home so we dropped onto the couch in the living room, and his record player cloaked the rabble of noisy bar patrons stumbling home below his windows.
For a few minutes, it was fine—exciting, fun, making out on the sofa with that swirly feeling of mutual attraction. But then I moved to climb onto his lap and my hand found his rough arm, and it hit me like a cymbal crash: Paolo’s bicep cold under my fingers; Sebastian’s sinewy back as we dragged him uphill. They were real—nightmares incarnate, acts that, though justified, could land us in jail.
I’d stiffened without realizing it, and Aaron touched my shoulders. “You all right?”
“Sorry—guess I’m a little on edge.”
“What’s up?”
I twisted and dropped onto the couch next to him. I longed to tell him, to open up about what was really wrong…but I couldn’t. “Just kinda in my own head. I swear it has nothing to do with you.”
“Okay. You wanna talk about it?”
Then suddenly I was crying, tears spilling down my cheeks while another part of me broke off and watched in horror: Get it together, Emily, before you scare off your new boyfriend. “I’m sorry!” I blurted out. “I know I’m being weird.”
“No, it’s okay,” he replied, but his eyes registered bewilderment, alarm. He didn’t exactly deny it—I was being a weirdo. He stood and hurried away, and my heart plummeted. Well, that hadn’t taken long.
“Here!” He reemerged with a box of tissues, and one made a zipping sound as I yanked it from the top. “C’mere. It’s okay.” He sat next to me and wrapped me in his arms. “What’s going on?”
I’d kill to be able to tell him—I’d give anything to just let it out. Instead I reined in the tears and pulled away. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you at all. I should…I should actually start heading home, though.”
“Oh. Okay.” He looked wounded. “Can I walk you to your car?”
“No, thanks so much, but I’m fine.”
But as soon as I got outside and turned the corner, I regretted my decision. The block was empty now, blackness pooling between the sallow streetlights. I was wearing leather boots with stacked heels, which produced a steady clop-clop-clop against the sidewalk. I tromped down the street under a thicket of tree branches, their buds protruding like goosebumps, and made my footfalls as quiet as possible. Literally tiptoeing around, trying to get home unnoticed. Something moved behind me and I gasped, but it was just a shadow in the beam of the nearest streetlight, a woman crossing the road fifteen feet away. Finally I flung myself into my car and locked the door.