She snorts a laugh. “Man, you’re so narcissistic. Of course you’re dying to know the details of something that didn’t even happen, and how it reflected on you.”
“Guilty,” I reply, holding my hands up.
She pushes her lips into a thinking moue. “I said that when we went to your room to make that Christmas light video, I basically attacked you.Rrraawwwrrr!” She forms her hands into claws and lunges at me, grabbing my pecs. “Then we fucked like a hundred times, and—”
“I’m rather energetic in your fantasies, aren’t I?”
“I had to keep it believable.”
“A hundred times is believable?”
“Okay, exaggeration. Maybe I saidfour. I’d rather do it four times at fifteen minutes each than once for an hour. Get on, get off, reboot, go again. That’s my style.”
“Duly noted.”
The smile we exchange is all cautious mischief. I reach for a coil of Sage’s hair that’s escaped its confines atop her head and smooth it behind one of her abundantly studded ears.
“Sometimes I wonder if I dreamt you,” I say before I can think better of it.
Her eyes widen, amused. “Uh-oh. Not just a narcissist, but… what’s that called—solipsism? You’re the only thing that exists, and I’m, like, your hallucination?”
“Frustratingly defiant hallucination, you.” I sink my hands into my pockets. “Let’s test your hypothesis. I’ll imagine you’re kissing me, and we’ll see if it happens.”
“Dream on.”
“I’m trying! Yet my lips remain tragically unkissed.”
The elevator stops at a lower floor and two women from Team Easton get inside, dressed in their white work shirts with sponsor patches and lime-green trim. One glances at the other silently as the doors shut, and a look of agreement passes between them.
“Not to be disloyal,” the taller woman says to Sage, “but we’re bothhugefans. I hope you kick ass on Sunday.”
As I watch Sage chat with her admirers for the rest of the trip down to the lobby, I’m impressed by how fluidly she adapts in social scenarios. She has that driver’s talent for making complex things look easy—her manner smooth, her timing impeccable.
Longing drags through me like a plow stabbing at hard ground. I want to know her… toreallyknow her. The heart of Sage Sikora, with all its blind alleys, a place where I suspect I could lose myself.
Or maybe find myself.
11
MELBOURNE
SAGE
Standing in the lobby, Priya’s wearing the sweater I gave her for her birthday. There’s a shiver of grief in my chest as my body has the impulse to do what I’d normally do: make dinosaur noises while running up and hopping on her, piggyback. Then we’d hug and she’d laugh and scold, and I’d drop some inside-joke quote from one of our favorite sketch comedy shows likeThat Mitchell and Webb Lookand she’d automatically fire back her part of the exchange.
But she’s got her arm looped through Julian’s, and they’re looking out the big front window and talking, turned away. My posture stiffens. I take Alexander’s arm and yank him closer before Pri and Jules see us.
Something tender is in Alexander’s expression, looking down at me. I can’t help wondering what he’s thinking any time he lets that cool upper-class mask slip. He’s usually like someone who has an opinion about polo ponies, butoccasionally something very real is there, and it sends an achy thump through my chest that’s not entirely unpleasant.
I’m annoyed by him, yeah; the guy’s an arrogant prick. But I’m also kind of fascinated. He keeps surprising me. I’m not sure if it’s just the obvious physical attraction or if there’s more, an X factor that isn’t typically mixed into my “lust cocktail.” A dash of enigma, a sprinkle of exciting aggression, a pinch of relatability.
MaybeI’mthe narcissist. Does he remind me of myself?
Nah. It’s just hormones. If I was going to catch feelings for anyone, it wouldn’t be Alexander Laskaris.
I peek up at him again.
Alexander’s face is handsome, but it’s also interesting. For one thing, he has freckles, which I’m sure he hates, but I can reluctantly admit (at least to myself) that they’re adorable. The other thing he probably sees as some hideous flaw is the scar across his right eyebrow. It cuts it into one-third/two-thirds segments and is angled like a backslash. I wanna ask him how he got it, but he’d probably make up some bullshit.
