“I didn’t—”
“I thought you left meagain,” she snapped even more sharply.
“I didn’t—” Elliot remembered the coffee in his hand and thrust it forward like a peace offering. “I went to get coffee. But we need to move. Now.” She didn’t reach for the to-go cup, so Elliot’s arm remained extended between them until he gave up. “There’s a guy out there.” He added, “Jaren. And he’s a real douche.”
“And this is my problem because?”
“He’s out there because ofyou. So I’m going to say again, we need to hustle. Unless you want them chasing us all the way to Los Angeles.”
“Los Angeles?” Birdie’s voice tipped into a higher octave. “Why are we going to Los Angeles?”
“Carter.”
“Carter?”
“Yes, Carter,” Elliot repeated. “He’s next on my list.”
“You mean to tell me that after last night, you still expect me to go through with this?”
“I think after last night, it’s even more important that you do go through with this,” Elliot said.
“That’s your TV reporter voice again,” she griped.
“It’s not my TV—” He stopped. It was. It was his goddamn TV voice. It was easier to handle her this way, not to think about the blurred lines of sharing a bed, of all the things he wanted to do to her while next to her in bed. He wanted to ask her: Why did you run your fingers up my back? Why did you trace them over my neck and up through my hair when you thought I was asleep? But he worried he couldn’t stay reasonably composed when he heard her answer, and then he worried about what would happen if he misread her answer. What if Birdie, who was out herechasing true love, just wanted him for mindless sex? To scratch an itch? To enjoy him because of proximity?
They’d already done that. Elliot couldn’t bear it again, and besides, this had to be kept professional. His career was hanging in the balance.
Also, there was Mona.
“Fine,” he said. “It was my TV voice. But really, we have to go. It’s six hours to LA, and if we slip out now, Jaren’s asleep. He’ll be waiting here all day while we’re halfway to SoCal.”
Birdie groaned. “I’m not going. I’m not doing this again.”
“You’re going,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if he was being strident because of Francesca or because it meant spending more time with Birdie or because he really did think he could help her. His brain ran through the options without him even realizing, and it dawned on him: yes, all three. But it would be so much more convenient if this was solely about saving his job.
“I’m not.” She crossed her arms and jutted her chin. “You can’t, like, kidnap me and take me to LA.”
“It’s not kidnapping, Bird,” Elliot said. “We agreed to do this. Together.”
“Nobody agreed to anything! Did I agree? I don’t remember agreeing.”
“Well, you got in the RV, and you spoke with Ian,” Elliot said. “I took that to be agreement.”
“You are an extremely unethical reporter if that’s all you need for consent,” she said.
You don’t know the half of it, Elliot thought, but said, “I always get consent.Always.” And now he wondered if they weren’t talking about something else entirely. Birdie scowled. Yes, they were talking about something else entirely.
“I don’t want to see Carter,” she said. “I don’t want to seeanyone.” She swiped Andie’s neon hoody from the floor and started to throw it over her head.
“No, not that.” Elliot sighed. “I really do think the paparazzi could see you from Mars.” He stepped to his closet, grabbed a blue cotton oxford, and offered it.
“The paparazzi don’t have to see me at all. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Bird, they’re either going to see you here, in my place, or they’re going to see you somewhere else. And may I suggest that you’d rather do this on your terms than on theirs?”
Birdie scowled even deeper, her eyes narrowing to slits, her chin turning upward toward her pursed lips. But she swiped his oxford from his hand and shoved her arms into the sleeves. A concession. Also, a relief because Elliot couldn’t begin to imagine how he was going to explain to Francesca that he’d blown the assignment one day into the job. Birdie had slept in a camisole, but Elliot averted his eyes all the same, as if watching her button up one of his shirts was too intimate for him to handle.
When she was dressed, she slipped into the bathroom and splashed water on her face, then used his toothbrush without asking. He didn’t know why he was surprised that she still did that; back when she was sleeping at their house every weekend, she always had a spare toothbrush in Mona’s bathroom. But occasionally it went missing, so she’d steal Elliot’s because he was almost always still out with his friends while she and Mona were already crashing for the night. He’d get home at some point in the early hours and find a wet toothbrush, and for a while, he accused Mona of being super disgusting, but Birdie shrugged and said it was her, and then he found that he didn’t mind so much.
