Rose and Kelly high-five each other, and a couple of minutes later, we’re out the door. They link their arms through mine, and we head for Austin’s bus. The door is closed, but the sound of muffled music speaks clearly to the vibe inside.
I’m not a party person, and I’ve had enough loud music for the day—with plenty more to come for the next three weeks.
“Hold on. My shoelace.” We all stop, and I unlink our arms and squat. I put my fingers to my laces, then make a run for it like Usain Bolt.
“Hey!”
“Mia!”
Still running, I raise my hand and wave. “Don’t hate me!”
I feel a little bad. But not too bad. I’m not dumb enough to think Austin actually cares whether I’m there. He has plenty of other people to distract him. And if hedoescare? Well, there are plenty of groupies who’d be more than happy to lend a shoulder—and more—for him to cry on.
I slow down as I reach the end of the street, then pull out my phone to open my map app. It takes it a second to figure out where I am amidst the tall, stone buildings surrounding me. My blue dot jumps around, then finally settles in one place. I bring the phone closer to my face and squint, trying to read the Czechstreet names and compare them to the ones the streetlamps illuminate.
“Boo!”
I startle at the hands squeezing my shoulders, then whip around to find Austin grinning at me.
“Glanced out the window and saw you ditch Rose and Kelly,” he explains.
My heart thinks I just got mugged by a stranger in a foreign city, and I smack Austin’s chest. Hard. But his chest isalsohard. It feels like it smacked me back, but I suppress the urge to nurse my hand.
He wrinkles his nose and rubs his chest. “Violence is not the answer, Mia.”
“Oh, and sneaking up on a defenseless woman in a strange city is?” I say as my heart slows. “What are you doing?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not. You can’t leave your own party. Besides, you don’t even know where I’m going.”
He points to my map. “Neither do you. Anyway, I’m just along for the ride, so it doesn’t matter where you’re going.”
“I wanted to check out the city dump,” I lie.
One of his brows goes up. “At”—he checks his watch—“11 o’clock at night?”
“I hear that’s the best time.”
“Gotcha,” he says, that little smirk making his eyes twinkle. “And I take it the dump is located in”—he peers at my phone, and I hurry to turn off the screen—“Old Town Square?”
Dang. He saw.
He jerks his head and starts walking, hands in his pockets. “Come on.”
“Austin.” I don’t budge. He looks very boy-next-door right now in his jeans and t-shirt, and the fact that I’m flattered he came after me is setting off warning sirens in my head. “Youreally don’t need to come with me. I’m fine. Look, I even have pepper spray.” I show it to him as evidence.
He stops and eyes it warily. “Is that reassurance or a threat?”
I don’t dignify that with a response.
“Do you really not want me to come?”
“I don’t need security,” I say, avoiding his question.
“If I thought you needed security, I would’ve sent someone else. I’m here because I want to see the city with you.”
And suddenly my goal for the night has changed. It’s no longer to see Old Town Square. It’s to urgently find some sort of device that can keep my heart from listening to anything Austin Sheppard says.
