Page 53 of Reckless Hearts
I’ve never shared my fear of heights with Saskia, but apparently, that’s about to change because there’s no fucking way I’m getting any closer to that edge.
“I don’t like heights,” I say.
“Really? How did I not know that about you?”
Your brother worked it out almost immediately when he saw my reaction on a ski lift.
But I’m not thinking about Seb now.
“Maybe the Marcus Wikipedia page doesn’t contain every single fact about me,” I say.
She smirks. “I’m starting to think I need to update my Marcus Johnson user manual. Any other surprises I should know about?”
How about the fact I have a friend-with-bennies thing going on with your little brother?
There’s no way I’m saying those words to Saskia. Especially not when there are cliffs around that she can hurl me off of. I have no doubt Saskia is smart enough to make it look like an accident.
“I guess the only other surprise is that my true passion is collecting belly button lint. But I was hoping to keep that one under wraps.”
Saskia laughs as she loops her arm through mine as we head toward our tour guide.
“Hey, look at that lizard.” She stops to point out a small lizard with a dark blotch on its side scurrying across the rocks.
Fuck. And I’m thinking about Seb yet again, wondering what he’d say if he was here, what facts about reptiles he’d share.
He’d love it here, I’m sure. He’d tell me all about the formation of the mountains and facts about the unique plants and animals.
I take a deep breath as we get into the tour van.
I’d thought this trip would be a detox from Seb. Which I decided I desperately needed.
It weirded me out when I realized I’d somehow stumbled into an exclusive arrangement with Seb.
But Seb made it perfectly clear he expected me to play around on this trip. And I’d left New Zealand with that intention.
Yet, for some reason, I can’t bring myself to even flirt with any of the guys I’ve met.
Saskia is finding it strange and is hassling me that the real Marcus must have been body-snatched because I’m letting so many hot American guys go to waste.
But it’s not only that I don’t want anyone else that is concerning. It’s the fact I have this overwhelming urge to message Seb.
Not even for sexting. Just to see how he is. To find out how his summer internship is going. To find out his exam results, whether he’s decided what his major will be.
Everywhere we’ve gone, I’ve thought about him and what he would say if he were with us. I imagined how excited Seb would have gotten at the Redwood National and State Parks when our guide explained how the trees communicate through underground fungal networks, how he’d have loved the geothermal activity at Yellowstone National Park and been fascinated by the fact Alcatraz was originally home to colonies of pelicans rather than prisoners.
The sun is just starting to set, painting the sky an array of oranges and purples, the shadows in the canyon deepening to an inky blue.
Despite the beauty, the foreignness of the landscape makes me think about how far away from New Zealand we are right now, which causes an ache in my chest.
But I have the sneaking suspicion I’m currently homesick for a person, not a place.
Two nights later,we’re in Las Vegas, getting ready to go clubbing.
I let Saskia put some eyeliner on me. She takes her task seriously, the tip of her tongue poking out as she concentrates on applying the eye pencil evenly.
She pulls back to admire her handiwork with a satisfied smile. “You look smoking.”
“Let’s just hope I don’t come near any ignitable material then.”
