Page 50 of You're The One
“Yeah. I was planning to tell you. She’s my front-runner. You two make a good match.” The last part sticks in my throat a little, but it’s true. They do make sense. On paper, anyway.
“Oh. I’m glad you think so.” He shifts his weight, staring into the pint and scraping at the melting edges without taking a bite.
Then finally, like he’s come to some kind of conclusion, he digs in for another oversized scoop. “Why is this ice cream blue? It doesn’t taste blue.”
I laugh, taking the pint back. “Does blue have a taste?”
“I imagine it to be sweeter, like cotton candy?”
I can’t even fault that logic. It kind of makes sense. I hold up the container so he can read the label. “It’s marshmallow flavored. CalledMarshmallow Sky. Hence the blue.”
“Kind of like your eyes,” he says, his gaze locked with mine, before quickly averting it.
I don’t realize I’ve taken another bite—and infected myself with his germs—until the cookie dough and marshmallow goodness hits my taste buds. I shift, pulling my feet up and hugging my knees to my chest.
“So, if you asked to kiss her and you didn’t…” I can’t help but start.
“She said no. Which was fine. Good, even.”
I raise a brow. “Good?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know. My head’s a bit fucked up, I think.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” I surprise myself by asking. But he looks so lost, I can’t help but try to do… something. I’ve never seen him this way, conflicted and unsure. He’s usually so confident. The surge of protectiveness I feel shocks me, not only because it’shim, but also because it’s not something I feel for most people. I’ve always been a loner.
His gaze returns to mine, and I think he might actually say more, but instead, he breaks the contact again.
“Nah.” He rummages through cabinets until he finds a protein bar. “How was your night?”
“Good,” I echo. Apparently,goodis the theme of the night.
He arches a brow. “Give me more than that. What did you do?”
I slide off the counter, return the pint to the freezer, and go back for more popcorn.
“I do the same handful of things here. It’s actually mind-numbingly boring.” I leave out how claustrophobic it feels.“Once the crew shows up, we’re not allowed to leave the property without approval. It’s kind of ridiculous. I’m dying to get out, even if it’s on another date with you,” I add, trying for a joke. It doesn’t quite land.
“What time do they get here? When do you wake up?”
I don’t tell him I’m usually up before the sun. That most nights I don’t sleep well. And why does he even care about my sleep habits? “The crew gets here around seven a.m., and I’m usually up around five.” I don’t mention that’s on a good day.
“Perfect. Why don’t we walk together in the mornings?”
“Where? I have no way to get around.”
“All you have to do is go down to the beach, turn right, and you’ll reach my villa in”—he tilts his head from side to side—“five minutes, tops. Do you have something bright, or better yet, reflective? I’ll wait for you on the beach, and I’ll be able to see you when you walk… although I’m sure you won’t run into any trouble in this neighborhood.”
“You’re up that early?”
“Yeah.” He finishes off the protein bar and raises his head toward the ceiling as he chews. “Most of the time.”
I don’t question it because it actually sounds kind of perfect—maybe minus the company. Though even that’s becoming harder to complain about.
“Yeah, all right. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.” He reaches out his hand, and I shake it.
It’s the first time I’m grateful for my internal clock. I don’t have a phone to set an alarm, and the nightstand version they gave us would wake up my roommates, which kind of defeats the whole sneaking-out plan.
