“People who don’t want to wait until next weekend,” he says as if it should be obvious.
“We havehomework,” I remind him.
“Come over to my room.” He shrugs. “We can do our homework together.”
I level him with a flat look. I remember very well how doing homework together always goes in college. He’s going to have to try harder than that.
“Yes, I will go out with you.Next weekend.”
“I’m not asking yet. Just checking if you’re free.”
I open my mouth to verbalize my annoyance, but he stops me with yet another kiss. Unable to help myself, I take the opportunity to deepen it, pulling away only when I realize we’re crossing the line into making out. I hate to admit it, but I melt more with each kiss.
He takes a step back, then pauses. He leans in and kisses me one last time.
“Good night, Joey.”
Once again, I’m jolted by his use of my nickname. In my first life, he always called me Josephina. It’s funny that his absolute refusal to use my preferred name was something that annoyed me for over a decade—an act of rebellion that I took as a sign of disrespect for my preferences—and yet, for just a single fleeting moment, I find myself missing the sound of my full name rolling past his lips.
You can call me Josephina, I almost say.But only you. Only ever you.
Ridiculous.
He can call me whatever he wants, because this thing between us, however exciting, is not built to last. It’s a good distraction. Something to take my mind off the mess I’ve made with Ellie. That’s all it can be.
But I know all too well how easy it is to get caught up in a distraction.
“Good night, Alex,” I say, watching as he walks away. He stops and turns around to smile at me not once but twice, and I realize what a dangerous game I’m playing.
I know all of Alex Aquino’s faults to an exact degree. I have experienced many of them firsthand. Too bad knowing something is a terrible idea doesn’t magically erase the temptation.
He’ll hurt me.
I just might let him.
8
I wake to vigorous shaking. For a moment, I think it’s an earthquake—then I remember that earthquakes don’t have arms.
“Wake up, wake up.Wake up,” Madison shrieks. She lets out a triumphant cry and shakes me harder. “I saw that. You’re awake. Don’t try to pretend you’re not.”
“What time is it?” I groan, and squint my eyes. She’s still dressed for sleep, in her pajamas and bonnet. It’s like the first thing she did upon waking was put on her glasses and jump across the room to shake me.
“Like eight, maybe?”
“On aSunday? Let me sleep.”
“You slept enough yesterday. Which reminds me, we need to talk about how you stormed out in pajamas. But first, I have gossip, and I need to share it. You were asleep when I got home, and I was tired, so I couldn’t share it then. But now I’m awake, and if I’m awake, that means you have to be awake so you canhear the gossip.”
I wanted to wait up for Madison last night, but I was too overwhelmed by my surprisingly lovely dinner with Alex. Torn and confused over what, if anything, it meant. Hence, sleep—the great panacea.
“Screw your gossip.” I roll over to face the wall and pull my comforter over my head.
“Joey. Think about where I was yesterday, and trust me, you’regoingto want to hear this,” she says, her voice transitioning to a knowing singsong.
Thatcauses me to jolt up.
“You didn’t.”
