Isabelle was silent. Maybe even shocked I’d cut her off.
“Isabelle.” I smiled into the phone. This is what growing a pair of balls felt like. I liked the sensation very much. “I need you to cover for me. I’m not going to the villa tonight. I’m going to Folegandros.”
Alex’s head shot up. And then a slow, lazy smile that made my cheeks flush.
“Folegandros?” Isabelle repeated. “Is that…what? A nightclub?”
“It’s an island—not too far from here. I’ll be back before we depart tomorrow.”
“What? No. You can’t—”
“It’s not up for debate, Isabelle. I’m calling in those favors. I’m going to Folegandros with Alex, and I need you to cover for me.”
“Alex? Chef Alexandros? You’re withhim?”
I could picture her making wild gestures to Thomas. “But Moti—”
“First grade. Katy Sterling. I took a punch for you in the playground.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Third grade. Biology project. You tracked sand through the house, and I took the heat for it.”
“I was already in trouble with—”
“Fifth grade. Mateo Martin. I sang twenty minutes straight so Rachel Auntie wouldn’t hear you talking on the phone with him.”
“Yeah, well. That was probably more painful for her than for you.”
“Ninth grade. The exchange student. I guarded the chemistry lab door while you made out.”
“He was hot, wasn’t he?”
“Prom night. When Mrs. Arora caught you smoking weed with—”
“Okay, okay. I get it. I owe you. Big time. I’ll figure something out.”
“Thank you.” My lips curved as Alex high-fived me. “I’ll meet you back on the boat tomorrow.” I was about to hang up when she spoke again.
“Hey, Moti!” She waited until I brought the phone back to my ear. “Are you going to…you know? With Alex.”
“Shut up.” I slid my eyes to him, hoping he hadn’t heard.
“He’s yummy. Tell me you’re at least going to—”
“Bye, Isabelle.” I hung up and returned the phone to Alex.
“So?” He put it away and looked at me. “Folegandros?”
The way he said it reminded me of his kiss, abuzz with promises. The night was warm, but a delicious shudder shot through me. Free. Alone. Alive. With Alex.
“Yes,” I replied. “Folegandros.”
We returned the motorbike Alex rented in Santorini and took the ferry to Folegandros. I expected it to be quiet, but the port was deserted—not a soul in sight.
I looked at my watch and then at the chalkboard sign again. The bus was late. Insanely late.
“All the schedules are in GMT.” Alex stretched out on the bench beside me.
