Page 50 of The Other Side of Together

“I know there are good women out there, but you’re young. And you never really know what’ll happen until you take the dive and then it’s just…messy.”

Since when does he think there are good women in the world? His newfound attitude lands in my head with a thud and springs a leak in my confessions holding tank. The leak picks up all the words I’ve been hiding from him, and they slide down to my mouth. Don’t know what to do with this conversation. Where was this crack in his hatred toward women a month ago? But before I can confess anything, I slide off the railing, my torso screaming as I nod toward the motorcycle.

“Welp…better get home. If I don’t get my homework done, I won’t graduate.” I pull on my helmet and we slide back onto the bike, my white knuckles on the handlebars having nothing to do with driving or my ribs.

“How ‘bout we grab dinner with Lex first?” Dad asks as he pulls on his helmet. “I’ve got a hankering for Zhangs since we didn’t go on Tuesday.”

CHAPTER 19

WANTED: An everyday kinda thing with a fine-lookin’ Taiwanese girl. Call Buddha if interested.

My face hurts from smiling as I turn the corner into my alley and scan the street for Nick’s guys, but Guo Mama steps out of her shop and I veer toward her.

“Ah! That’s the look,” She smiles so big I can see all her dentures

“What look?” I shift the grocery bags in my hand.

“Girl inlove,” she says through a grin. “You can’t deny it—I read it in here.” She holds out a folded note and heat rushes my face when I set down bags and snatch it from her, shaking my head.

“Seriously, Guo Mama?”

She holds up her hands. “Can’t help it. I am so happy.”

My eyes trace Marcus’s handwriting, and I smile at the lopsided letters of my name. “I need to get to work. Thank you!” I call over my shoulder as I hurry out the door and slip around the corner, glancing at Marcus’s apartment as I slide the envelope in my pocket and go through the back entrance.

Guo Mama’s right: I am a girl in love and want to tell him. The words bubble to the surface every time I’m around him. He’s going to see them or feel them, but I want to say them.

Dropping the grocery bags on the counter, I sneak upstairs and throw my bag on my bed before closing and locking my door. I roll my sore neck where Holden grabbed me. Another reminder that things will get much worse if anyone catches me and Marcus.

I stare at the envelope until my phone buzzes, and I yank it from my pocket, but it’s only Lin, saying she’ll be here after my shift. At least it’s not another text from Nick. Every time I get one, I fight to type one-word responses with happy, friendly exclamation points so he’ll never suspect anything. The responses in my head are anything but happy or friendly.

Stepping to my desk, I shove Marcus’s letter inside my ‘CALC’ folder with the others and head downstairs for work, smiling to myself as I picture us curled together on his bed earlier, on a blanket under his window. That room was on a completely different planet, far from this one. I could easily give up everything here for everything there. Permanently relocate to his world that might not include culinary school but has unlimited Marcus. If I disappeared from my world, Nick would have to move on. My parents would stay in the States. Everything could be okay.

The kitchen is busy, and I stand on tiptoe to look out the blurry swinging door window to check the crowds. My eyes skip over the sea of red tables, customers’ heads thrown back in laughter or leaned over their dinners.

Wishing it was Tuesday, my eyes skim Marcus’s usual table and skid to a stop on Detective Miller, Detective Robinson…Marcus. Detective Miller’s son who made out with me all afternoon. Not long enough.

My eyes dart to Nick’s usual table, which is empty again tonight, and I let out a shaky breath and close my eyes, remembering his text from earlier: You are going to love L.A. Ican’t wait to show you around in a few weeks. I’d texted back that I couldn’t wait, but Nick’s absence tonight is a gust of relief trailed by a hot, fast memory of me and Marcus from earlier, his lips on my neck, hands struggling to stay in the safe zone. Me hoping they wouldn’t.

I press the Sharpie heart he drew on the inside of my wrist against my hip as heat flares in my stomach and into my face.

I turn from the window, my lungs burning as I haul in a deep, shaky breath and walk to the back of the kitchen, behind the shelves, my fingers fumbling with my apron strings, arms and legs numb. Detectives can smell lies, and I’m splattered with them: my Nick lie, my family lie, my skipping school in Detective Miller’s house lie. Making out with his son in his very own house last nightandtoday. Marcus’s fingerprints are practically all over me. His heat is still trapped in my permanent blush. Like a love sunburn I hope never fades.

Baba walks into the kitchen, barking at one of the chefs, and I grab a tablet, gripping it until my fingertips go white. I push through the swinging door, my eyes above customers’ heads as I weave around tables toward Marcus, my heart pumping too much blood to my head. I think I’m going to explode.

I smile at Detective Robinson first, my eyes straining so hard to stay on him, I’m sure I’m glaring. “Hello,” I say with a shaky smile, then tense when I feel Marcus’s eyes rest on my face like a warm hand.

I curl my toes and concentrate on Detective Robinson, hoping I’m not squinting. “Can I get you anything to drink or are you ready to order?”

“Hey, Mei Li!” Detective Miller booms, spinning a spoon on the tabletop, grinning at me like a spotlight on all my guilt. “Looks like we’re getting special Zhang treatment tonight!”

Marcus smirks at the table and rests his forearms along the edge, drumming his fingers, The same fingers that touchedme all day. A new number blares from his arm in red Sharpie: 3/1000. I need to look at Detective Miller, but Marcus is leaning on his elbow, chin in his hand as he watches me. Detective Miller drops the spoon he’s spinning, and it clatters to the ground. When he bends to pick it up, Marcus’s eyes meet mine.

“Speaking of special Zhang treatment. Meet me in the pantry?”

My legs go tingly, and I wiggle them as I bite my lip to control my smile, then yank my eyes back to Detective Miller when he sits up.

“I’ll get you a new spoon,” I say to him, standing on one foot and wiggling the other.

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