“If she’s such a good friend, you could’ve just told her the truth about us.”
“We don’t want that,” Lewis says with a shake of his head. “I love her, but Brady has absolutely no filter and she’s bad at keeping secrets. In our second year of grad school, she was meant to organize a surprise birthday party for me, and it didn’t even take an hour for her to spill the secret. She has the best of intentions, but I can see her accidentally telling our secret to Jacob or any of our other colleagues.”
“Right. So, are we done here?” Bristling from our fight, I’m eager to get back home, kick my feet back, and open a tub of ice cream on the couch.
His gaze flits over my face. “Look, I’m really sorry. What I said earlier—”
I raise my hand to flag down the waiter.
We finally leave the restaurant after another discussion about who pays for dinner that we settle by splitting the check. Outside, a sharp wind lifts the tips of my hair, followed by a clash of thunder that makes me jump on the spot.
“We’d better hurry up,” I mumble as I peel off Lewis’s jacket, but rain starts pelting down as soon as I hand it over. Within seconds, we’re drenched, our shoulders and arms slick with the quickly cooling water.
He pushes the jacket back at me. “Take it!”
“I’ll be fine,” I protest and shove it his way. “The subway is close by.”
“At least wait until it lets up a little,” Lewis calls against the noise of the water hitting the pavement. He covers my headwith his jacket and pulls me in the opposite direction, under the green canopy of a hotel’s entrance.Hishotel’s entrance. Brady runs down the sidewalk with pigtails plastered to the sides of her neck and her mascara smudged into a raccoon’s bandit mask. When she reaches us under the awning, she doubles over, hands on her knees.
Lewis touches her shoulder, brows drawn together in concern. “Are you okay?”
“All good,” she pants and gives him a thumbs-up. “Thank Golgi, I stopped to pet this dog and hadn’t gotten far yet.” When she rights herself, she rummages through her tote bag, the cotton now splotched with water. “Well, thank Golgi, twice,” she exhales. “My notes are okay.”
“Lewis was just telling me about your writing,” I say.
“You’re familiar withThe Witcher?”
“That’s the one with the handsome blond guy, right?”
Brady’s eyes swerve to Lewis. “It’s not like the difference between the books versus the games versus the screen adaptation have been a topic of conversation,” he tells her apologetically.
“Yet, I hope,” Brady mutters. Then, louder, “What are you guys doing out here? Let’s go inside!” We have no choice but to follow.
The lobby is welcoming with its low, unobtrusive jazz music. We pass the gray upholstered armchairs and softly glowing brass lamps, our wet shoes squeaking on the marble floor. As we wait for the elevator and Brady wipes the fog off her glasses, I try (and fail) to ignore how indecently Lewis’s shirt sticks to his shoulders and his chest.
It would’ve been easier if he had let me run to the subway in the first place. Now I have to, what? Wait out the rain in his room? Argue with him some more? Though I guess it’s good he didn’t let me leave, or else we would’ve tipped Brady off and the dinner would have been for nothing.
I use the sleeve of Lewis’s jacket to wipe the water out of my face, then draw it tighter around me by the lapels before I check the weather app on my phone. A massive purple cloud swirls over Manhattan and several warnings crowd my notifications: Flash floods, heavy rain, the recommendation to stay inside.
“I don’t think this storm is going to stop anytime soon,” I report.
Brady pushes her glasses back up her nose. “Good thing we’re safely sheltered. If you weren’t already together, this situation would be the perfect setup for my favorite of all tropes—only one bed.”
I catch my surprised laugh behind my closed fist. Lewis’s mouth twists with a barely suppressed smile. If only she knew.
“Anyway,” Brady continues, “I’ve been meaning to say something, but I’m glad you two finally get along now. He’s always felt terrible about how things went down between the two of you. He wanted to put you on that paper back then, but his professor made him take it off, wanted to publish it fast, the usual stuff.” She shrugs as the elevator doors slide open. “Even paid an express fee. I guess you already know all of this, though.”
Huh.Not only is this a clear demonstration of how Brady cannot keep a secret, but also a very interesting piece of information. Maybe the one that finally connects Lewis’s uptight and obnoxious side with the bits of thoughtfulness I’ve seen gleaming through.
We step into the elevator, and as Brady punches the buttons on the control panel, I turn to Lewis. “Is that true?” I murmur.
Sheepishly, he returns my gaze. “Yeah,” he confirms as he rubs the back of his neck, his biceps tense under the wet fabric of his shirt. I’mmost definitelynot looking.
“Well,” I say quickly and, eager to get my focus elsewhere,tell Brady, “it was all a giant misunderstanding and I’m long over it,” though I’m definitely not. But I should probably hear him out, because it seems there’s more to the story than I thought.
“Hold up,” someone shouts, and Lewis slots out his knee to keep the doors open. A group of teenagers files into the elevator, filling it with chatter that might be Italian. Matching backpacks with a big logo—they must belong to some kind of class trip or language school. As we press into the back corner, Lewis’s shoes touch mine.
“Has he been chewing your ear off about boats, too?” Brady asks as the elevator finally starts moving.
