Her eyes narrow more, and I move one arm under my head, grinning down at her.
“Maybe someone else starts hitting on me,rightin front of you,” I say. “You wouldn’t scare them off, just a little?”
“No, I’d trust you to tell them you weren’t interested,” she says, but she’s trying not to laugh. “Like agrown-up.”
“Okay, but maybe they don’t get the hint,” I go on. “You wouldn’t tell themGet lost—this one’s taken?”
“What exactly areyoudoing in this scenario?” she asks. “Are you just standing there, batting your eyelashes?”
“I do have nice eyelashes.”
“I’m kinda jealous ofthose, actually.”
“I knew it.” I pull her in and kiss her again, slow and sleepy. When she pulls back, our legs are tangled together.
“For the record, I wouldn’t actually fight someone who hit on you,” she says. “But ifyoudidn’t saySorry—I’m taken, I’d probably get mad. At you. And if someone hit on me, I’d also tell them that.”
Someone’s probably said something more romantic before in the history of the world, but none of them were Madeline, talking to me in her bed, so they don’t count.
“What if we told them after their honeymoon?” I say, my hand on the curve of her waist. “Maybe wait a week so they can settle in, and then…”
There’s a brief silence. The backs of Madeline’s knuckles brush against my chest. I wonder if she can feel the way my heart flutters whenever she says things like that, the way it flutters when we talk about the logistics of telling our parents. Whenever I confirm that this thing between us, which still feels like gossamer and quicksilver, stolen touches and secret glances, isreal. Even now, there’s a part of me that expects her to wake up tomorrow and realize what a dumb mistake she’s made.
“That sounds right,” she says, and she sounds faraway. “A month, then.”
“Right.”
“Don’t fall asleep.”
“One more minute,” I say, and I hope it goes by slowly.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
MADELINE
You ever haveone of those dreams where the real, non-dream world intrudes into your subconscious? Usually when that happens, I’m dreaming that I can’t find a bathroom, and when I wake up, I need to pee. Glamorous, I know.
This time, I’m on someJeopardy-like game show. Only, whenever I try to give an answer, all that comes out of my mouth is a buzzing noise. It’s maddening and scary in that way that dreams are, and then I finally wake up to warm weight slung over my chest and my phone buzzing away on my bedside table.
DAD, the screen says, and it’s still dark outside and oh my god, who died?
I answer the phone with “Is everything okay?” and sound just short of dead myself.
“Hi, honey,” he starts. He sounds much more awake than me, but he’s using his Nervous Voice. “Sorry—I know it’s early.”
“’Salright.” The warm weight shifts, pulling me closer, nuzzles into my hair.
“Have you heard from Javier since last night?” Dad asks. “He never showed up at Paloma’s, and we’re all a bit worried over here.”
Shit.Shit. It’s morning, or close, and the cause of everyone’s worry is currently my big spoon, one hand splayed over my rib cage, his mouth sleepily moving against the back of my neck. I take a deep breath and?—
“I should go soon,” Javier mumbles into my neck, approximately three inches from the receiver of my phone. “Sorry, I fell asleep. Mmmmm.”
Before I can do anything, such as throw my phone across the room, he presses the world’s loudest kiss against my neck.
The other end of the line is very, very quiet.
“Was that?—”
