Page 43 of Here for a Good Time
“They have history. They went to the same assassin training program where they used to date or were best friends who—” I pause to swallow, my eyes instinctively flitting away for a beat. “—had a wholewill they, won’t theything. But they had a huge falling-out and eventually got recruited by different organizations. And they’ve spent the last few years circling in and out of each other’s orbits.”
“Does the whole book take place on the plane?” He tilts his head up, squints like he’s playing it out like a movie in his head. “That’s a small setting. How would you maintain enough action in such a confined space?” This is why I love talking to Zwe about my writing, because he always keeps pushing, keeps askingHow?andWhy?andWhat next?and forces me to expand the story. It’s like having a second editor. Itishaving a second editor.
“That’s a good point.” I chew on my bottom lip as I consider. “It could open at the airport. The check-in counter. The narration is from the main character’s point of view, so she spots the other assassin first, quickly works out why he’s on this plane as well, andthen maybe pulls some strings so they’re seated near each other so she can keep an eye on him. And the majority of the bookwouldbe on the plane, but I think that’d be good for me.”
“In what way?”
“It’d push me. Like, as a writer. But I could also insert flashback chapters to when they were in the training program together to break things up a bit.”
Like I’ve aced a test I didn’t realize I was taking, Zwe leans forward at my answer, smile stretched, dimples deep. “Has it worked?”
I blink. “Has what worked?”
“Have I distracted you from whatever catastrophic thought you were having when I found you? After all, nothing distracts you like a good book, right?”
His words are a stun gun right to the center of my heart. “Thank you,” I say, now wanting to cry for a new reason.
“Anytime. But also, I think you should write a romance novel. You’re clearly great at it.”
I barely register that this is the second time he’s made this same ridiculous suggestion. His face is so close to mine that I can see the specks of dirt on his cheeks and nose, probably from his food foraging. For a few minutes there, I forgot that we were stranded in the middle of nowhere with no food, water, or shelter; instead, it felt like we were back home, me tossing out a plot, him asking the questions that will help round out the story so I can see it better. That’s the thing—we’ve done thissomany times, and yet, right now,thistime, it feels different. For various reasons.
You make everything better,I think.Whenever there is a terrible, awful, shitty situation, you are the person I want to get through it with.
“I think you’re trying to project your real-life horniness ontomy books,” I finally say, but not without having to swallow past a star that’s become lodged in my throat.
Zwe shifts back, like he accidentally got zapped by an invisible electric fence. “I’m sorry? You think I’m horny right now?” he asks, but I note how he diverts his gaze.
“I think—” I raise my brows up and down in the general direction where Leila and Antonio went. “—the feeling’s mutual.”
Zwe follows my gaze, looks back at me, back at the woods, at me, and finally barks out laughing. Except I know his laugh. And this isn’t a genuineYou are so off base, it’s hilariouslaugh. This is his defensive laugh. The one that he’d used to laugh around the kids at our high school who made “friendly” jokes about his weight.
“Leila?” he asks, but not without glancing around to make sure that he didn’t accidentally summon her.
“Leila,” I confirm. “Promise me something?”
“No,” he says.
“Promise me that if you two are going to do it tonight, you’ll go off somewhere far away so that Antonio and I won’t be awakened in the middle of the night and be scarred for life.”
“I’m not going to doitwith Leila tonight.”
“Ah,” I say, lifting my head in understanding. “Building up the tension so that you can have celebratory sex when we’re rescued? I get it. Make her wait for it, tiger.”
With just the last rays of sun illuminating him from behind, I can’t discern the contours of his face as well as I’d like to, but I think I catch the flexing of his jaw, or at the least, a slight tightening of his muscles. The dimples are gone. “Fine, you wanna play this game? I’ll play.” His reply takes me by surprise. “Would it be the worst thing in the world if Ididhave a, let’s say,crush,on Leila?”
The star in my throat pushes deeper, its edges even sharper than I initially thought. “If youdid,” I say, and clear my throat to get rid of the hoarseness. “No, it wouldn’t. I would be very happy for you. Because she’s great, and you deserve someone who’s as hot and smart as you are.”
“At least I’m not texting Julia anymore,” he remarks.
“That is a very good point.”
“What’s a good point?” Antonio asks.
“Noth—” Zwe starts.
“We were talking about dating,” I jump in. Zwe throws me a glare, and I give him a subtleI’ve got thisnod.
“What about dating?” Antonio asks. “And how does that relate to a good point?”
