Page 14 of My Lucky Star
He glanced down at this outfit and threw his arms out. “You don’t like my clothes? They’re Sarar.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but the hurt in his voice gave me a pang of shame and I backtracked. “They’re just so... shiny.”
He shrugged, sauntered across the floor, skipping over my outstretched legs, snatched his phone off the nightstand and threw himself across the bed to change his SIM card. “It’s either this or the towel, sorry. If it’s too shiny for you, I have a pair of sunglasses in my bag.”
My shoulders dropped in relief. He was playing along. A gentle buzz began in my gut, a low hum like I’d drunk very fizzy, very strong cider. I stared at the pale purple of that satin shirt reflecting the morning sun. It made me think of commercials of lavender-scented laundry liquid (I’d spent too much time near that laundromat), and I wondered if underneath unreal fabric was indeed a real person, not some kind of photoshopped vision come to life.
Gathering my wits, I stood to photograph the bathroom, which was also original, as well as pretty worn out.
“Shit! Shit!” Cem’s voice drew me back to the bedroom.
“Bad news?”
“My brother hasn’t been able to track down my bags. Apparently, all unclaimed baggage is shifted to a storage facility out of town. He’s saying, in the meantime, I should order what I need and keep a low profile.”
I cocked my head. “Do you usually keep a... high profile?”
Cem pulled a face. “I’ve been in the media lately, not in a good way, and they’d love to catch me again. But I can’t stay indoors day and night. I’ll go crazy.” He groaned.
I studied at his shiny outfit. I couldn’t let him leave the building like that. He’d be a magnet for unwanted attention. There was no keeping a low profile in a shiny suit, not during off-season in sleepy Napier. He probably didn’t know he’d landed on an island where even shoes were optional.
“Don’t go anywhere yet. I’ll find you some clothes. I have to make an appearance at the office first, but I’ll sneak out during lunch.”
Napier had some clothing shops, but my budget was limited. Could I borrow something? I thought about the only guy as tall as him in my immediate circle. Felix. Could I borrow his clothes without telling him why? Nope.
Something covered the phone I held in my hands. A credit card. A shiny, gold credit card. My heart stopped.
“Use this.”
He rummaged through the nightstand drawers, found a ballpoint pen, took my left hand and scribbled on my palm. 6-5-5-4.
“Your pin?”
“Yes. Could you also find some Turkish tea? Maybe they sell it somewhere.”
He followed me to the door, closing his hand around my arm. The jolt that travelled up to my chest could have restarted my heart.
My gaze fell on his half-finished teacup on the nightstand. “You hate English Breakfast, don’t you?”
He followed my eyes. “Oh, the tea? It’s different.” He shrugged. “I’d love to make you a cup of Turkish tea. If I can find some Turkish tea and... equipment.”
“Sounds complicated.” I glanced at my arm, which he still held. “I really have to go.”
“But you’ll come back?”
He smiled at me with the kind of boyish excitement that made my stomach flip-flop. Combined with his touch and warm, spicy scent, even my knee joints felt oddly loose.
He doesn’t care about you. He’s using you.
“You’d better hope I come back, since you gave me your credit card.” I slipped the card into my pocket with a bullish smile.
His eyes flashed with alert. “Wait. I need your phone number.” He offered me the pen he’d used, and his arm. For a split second, I could only focus on the cords of muscles under the olive skin, thinking I could swing like a monkey from that arm, and he could probably hold me. The thought excited me more than it should have.
Focus, Aria.
“We can find a piece of paper...” I scanned the room, trying to spot something good for writing on.
His eyes rolled. “It’s not a tattoo. Just write your number.”
