Page 94 of Prince of the Palisades

“You saved them,” I say, grinning.

Reiss sits up. Follows my gaze to the tickets. He shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.

All the endorphins I felt ten minutes ago fizzle out. This is the Reiss I should’ve expected when I arrived. Distant. Angry. Hurt by what I did.

I rub the back of my neck. “Thank you. For not kicking me out.”

“You surprised me.” Another careless shrug. “Besides, my parents would kill me.”

“They’re sweet.” My smile lifts. “Andreallyfunny.”

“They’re not bad, I guess.”

“And Dominic,” I start, but Reiss’s expression shifts. Like he’s fighting something, but he doesn’t interrupt me. “Dom’s amazing.”

Awkward silence returns. Even with the muted voices from the other end of the apartment, it feels like no one else is here. Just me and him and the things we still haven’t said.

I just want us back to how we were before. Not that he owes me that. Not that it ever works that way for me.

Reiss clears his throat. I trace my eyes over his face. It’s still, but softer.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he offers.

“If Ajani finds out what you’ve planned, she’s going to kill you.”

“She wouldn’t.” Reiss flashes a confident smile while scanning a QR code on the e-scooter parked under a tree outside his complex.An actual scooter. It’s all black with electric-blue accents on the deck and wheels. Reiss’s grin slips a little. “Wait, would she?”

I shrug. “Probably not. She likes you too much.”

“She does?”

“It’s your sparkly personality and sense of humor and your”—with his back to me, I watch him bend over, unlocking the scooter with his phone—“ass…er, asking her what tea she likes.”

“So, it’s the free tea?”

I swallow, nodding even though he’s not looking. I’m certainly not staring at how low those old joggers have slipped on his hips. Nope, not at all.

“Here.” He passes me a helmet. “Safety first.”

“Always,” I say, then bite the inside of my cheek.

He climbs on, waiting for me to follow. After slipping on the helmet, I raise an eyebrow.

“Are we both, um…riding this one?”

He lets out a nose-scrunching snort. “You need a license to rent these. I’m guessing you don’t have one?”

I smile. “Haven’t even been behind the wheel of a car before.”

“Figured. Come on.”

Inhaling, I step on behind him. The deck is thin and short. We’reclose. My hands on his shoulders. His warm back pressed to my chest, and everything below that.

I try, “Is this legal—”

“Hold on tight,” he commands, flipping the power switch, and I’ve barely repositioned my arms to hug him from behind before we’re off.

The e-scooter isn’t fast. We follow the bright green bike path up the road. There aren’t many cars out. People are sticking to the sidewalks, where we’re not allowed, according to Reiss. From here, Santa Monica is aglow—palm trees wrapped in bulbs, restaurants still glimmering, moonlight washing over the quiet streets. It’s electric.

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