We check in and eat a quick dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. By the time we’re done, it’s nearing nine and Paul’s energy level has nosedived.
“I hate to cut the night short,” he says as we exit the elevator on the third floor. “I’m not used to keeping up with you kids.”
Theo has his hand on Paul’s shoulder, guiding him down the hall. “It’s fine, we have to get up early tomorrow anyway.”
I’ve already set my alarm for six; we have to be out the door by quarter to seven to beat the crowds.
But after we say good night in front of our adjacent rooms, restless energy beats through me. I sit listening to the silence on the other end of the wall, staring at the camera bag with my freshly cleaned equipment, and think about the way Theo looks at me sometimes. The way his voice dips low. That crooked smirk.
At ten I give up and dig through my suitcase for my bathing suit. I only brought one, a high-waisted bikini I bought for a girls’ trip to Costa Rica years ago. It’s black, simple, a little sporty but shows a lot of ass, which is objectively my best feature. In hindsight, a one-piece may have been more appropriate, but I like my body in this suit.
Would Theo?
“No,” I demand, glaring at myself in the full-length mirror. The gleam in mirror-me’s brown eyes is defiant.
God. I can’t even agree with myself. Maybe a dip in the hot tub will steam my brain cells into submission. Or kill some off.
Once I’m dressed, I slip on a robe and make my way down to the pool. The posted hours say it closed at ten, but the gate is propped open, so I slip inside.
Aside from the hum of conversation from the restaurant patio, it’s quiet. At my feet, the hot tub bubbles, steam hissing into the cool night air. Above, the sky stretches into forever and nothing, an infinite number of stars shaken across it.
I yank at the knotted belt of the robe, but a voice nearby stops me.
“—push me out.”
I freeze. That sounded like Theo.
“I know, Matias, but you—”
Again, the voice stops, clearly frustrated. It’s definitely Theo; even angry—or, god, maybe especially that way—the timbre of it sings through my body.
“I’ve got my dad up my ass right now, I don’t need you there, too. I told you this morning, I’m unavailable for the next two weeks,” he says, low and tight. He sounds closer now, but I still don’t see him. “You and Anton agreed to that—” Another pause, then a laugh. It sounds dead. “Yeah, I know what’s going to happen, and that’s exactly why I don’t give a shit about the timing of this trip. I’m having my attorney look at everything, too. There’s nothing else we can do right now, so let me do this. No more fucking calls, okay?”
There are footsteps now, incredibly close. I scramble to unknot my robe, my heart racing, but Theo rounds the corner just as it falls to the ground.
When he catches sight of me, he stops so suddenly that it looks like he ran into an invisible wall. He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t. I’m standing here with my ass hanging out, feeling naked in every sense of the word as his eyes sweep over me.
It’s confirmed: he likes my body in this bikini. And my body loves that.
“Eavesdropping?” he asks finally, that tightness still in his voice.
“Keeping secrets?” I shoot back.
He’s so tense. Even ten feet away, in the darkness and with a gate separating us, it’s radiating off him. His shoulders are tight, his hand clenched around his phone like he’s seconds away from throwing it.
Theo’s life has always seemed perfect from far away. But I’m close enough now to see the cracks.
He pushes through the gate, slipping his phone into his pocket. His eyes run over me quickly and he swallows, then looks away.
“I had to check in with work,” he says. His gaze flickers back to my face, dropping lower briefly. It’s like the steam brushing against my skin: hot, but too insubstantial to really feel.
A cold shower would be ideal, but the hot tub will have to do. I slip into the water, letting out a sigh as it engulfs me. Theo watches from the edge, his hands in his pockets, the lights from the hot tub dancing across his face. It could just be the way it’s distorting his features, but for a second he looks . . . devastated.
I remember the days I’d run to Gram’s house after a terrible breakup or a professional heartache. There was something cathartic in knowing she’d open the door and instantly recognize I needed to talk. That I needed to shed a secret, or two, or ten.
I see it in Theo’s face now; the weight of it, whatever it is.
“My gram and I . . .” I trail off, unsure. He’s still looking down at me, his expression morphing from blank to hungry to miserable as the lights flicker under the roiling water. “We had a thing we did. We called it Tell Me a Secret, and every time we saw each other, we’d exchange a secret we needed to get off our chest. Sometimes more, depending on how big a disaster the day was.”
Recognition of my offer smooths out his brow. His shoulders straighten and he exhales, deep and tired. Then he crouches, resting his forearms on his knees. “All right, Shepard. Wanna play?”
I raise a challenging eyebrow. “Do you?”
“Tell me yours first.” It’s bossy, too familiar, like he came up with the game himself and he’s letting me participate.
But I started this, so I play along. I run my hand through a circle of bubbles, letting my expression turn threatening. “I want to throw your phone into the pool. If I’m subjected to any more Radiohead, I’m going to fling myself out of the car while it’s moving.” A smile—so tiny but there—breaks the straight line of his mouth, curves it into something lighter. My chest goes so warm. Must be the hot tub. “But also, you should get two weeks without whatever stress your job is giving you, if that’s what you asked for.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and I follow the sinuous motion. I hate that it’s sexy. I hate that he’s sexy, and that he’s sad, and I don’t like that I hate that. It scares me. I don’t need this.
But I don’t stop it, either. “Tell me yours.”
“What do you have against Radiohead?”
I glare. “That’s not a secret.”
He grins. “Thom Yorke is a genius.”
“Thom Yorke makes me want to throw myself out of a moving vehicle, and also, maybe try music from this century. Now tell me your secret, Spencer, or I’m going to push you into the pool with your phone.”
He stands, and for a moment I feel so utterly exposed it takes my breath away. I shared something personal with him and he’s going to leave?
I open my mouth to tell him where else his phone can go, but he gets there first.
“I can’t wait to see you with a camera in your hand tomorrow.” He says it in a rush, then looks down, exhaling slowly. “You’d better be as good as I remember. No crooked photos.”
And then he walks away without another word, leaving me gaping after him.
Twelve
Paul pulls a letter from the pocket of his jacket as soon as we get into the van the next morning. Yesterday we agreed he’d give me a letter every day and let the story unfold over the course of our trip. I want Gram with me every step of the way; stretching it out this way is like having her right next to me.