I shake my head. No, that’s not what they want. Absolutely not. They’re just alerting me he’s there, like they would alert me if he were a saber-tooth tiger or something. No biggie.
“Go away, Cal,” I say.
“How did you know it was me?”
Something tenses in my stomach. “You doused yourself in cologne.”
I swing around, and he’s blinking too rapidly. I hate the hurt on his face, and I hate the sudden urge to pull him closer to me and wrap my arms around him. That’s not what I’m supposed to be doing. No way.
The ride-share car pulls in front of the curb, and I hop in.
“Airport?” the driver asks.
“Yeah.”
“Which airline?”
Shit.
“Bring me to the international terminal.”
The door opposite opens, then Cal plops into the seat beside me.
I stare, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to the airport too.”
“What?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you know each other?” the driver asks.
“It’s fine,” I blurt.
I fling my head against the headrest and close my eyes. I was lying when I told Cal I could smell his cologne outside.
But I’m distinctly aware I can smell him now. His scent wafts around me, and I angle my body away from him. He fills my mind, so I open my eyes and stare at Boston as the Uber passes through it. The sky is overcast, gray clouds once again heavy with snow.
Fiji. I’ll go to Fiji.
And I won’t think about Cal Prescott at all. He won’t even occur to me.
I brace myself for Cal to start asking me questions so he can insert quotes from me in whatever article he’s writing. Instead, he’s silent, and I’m suddenly thankful for ride-share cars and their complete and utter lack of privacy.
Finally, Boston drifts away, replaced by bright signs directing us to the airport and various parking options.
The car pulls to a stop, and I sprint toward the entrance.
I glance at the flashing billboard for flights, then spot Fiji AirwaysPerfect.I’m pretty sure they have flights to Fiji.
I head for the counters. This is crazy, but I can do this. I’ll leave Boston. I slap my passport down at the counter.
No way will Cal be able to get to me.
CAL
Frazzled people dart to airport counters, wheeling suitcases beside them, but my gaze is focused on Jason.
