Page 50 of Colliding with Ten

“Uh-huh,” I said, unconvinced. “The chairs are probably better over there.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Please don’t say sushi again.”

I grinned. “Oh, I’m definitely saying sushi again. Come on. Stretch your legs, get some real food. I’ll carry the bag. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I stood, pulled the hoodie over my head, and put my shades back on. We sat in a corner, out of sight of the terminal, but being out in the open increased the chance of me being recognized. The last thing I needed was for this to turn into a security issue.

She gave me another smile. I’d started saving them without meaning to: the big ones that took over her face, the reluctant ones she tried to hide, and the smaller ones that made her mesmerizing. All her chuckles, smiles, and laughs made me feel ten feet tall.

Before she could argue again, I reached for her carry-on. “I’ve got it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” I met her eyes. “Besides, I promised my mother I’d do more gentlemanly things.”

She rolled her eyes but stood carefully. “That’s because you thrive on attention.”

I lowered my voice and leaned in so she could hear. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

I slowed my pace, matching her stride. The crowds had thinned near the gates, most sleeping or lounging in chairs. Every few steps, I glanced sideways to make sure she was okay. She adjusted her pace to her knee’s limitation. I’d done the same for weeks after my injury.

She caught me. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“Not babysitting. Just making sure my dinner guest doesn’t face-plant before the appetizer.”

She cackled. I shot her a grin.

When we reached the little sushi spot, her eyebrows shot up. The place looked good. It smelled clean, fresh.

“Okay,” she said, surveying the setup. “This is not what I expected.”

“Told you.” I led her toward a booth.

She shook her head, fighting a smile. “I’ll stick to miso and edamame, thanks.”

“Coward.”

“Realist.”

I chuckled and grabbed a few plates from the carousel, including tuna and salmon. “You’re missing out.”

She stared at me as I rubbed my palms together like a kid unwrapping presents. She rolled her eyes but laughed. As she sipped her miso, she teased me about my “questionable life choices” while I sat, unable to stop watching her smile.

The first time I saw her, she’d been glowing under stadium lights, in makeup and shimmer. Now her face was bare, making her look softer. She’d pulled her curls into a loose ponytail, with wild strands falling around her temples. Every time she laughed, one shook loose. She pushed it back with two fingers without breaking the conversation.

“So, you mentioned earlier that I like attention.”

Her lips twitched. “Did I?”

“Yeah.” I leaned forward. “Now I’m curious. Why do you think that?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm, maybe it’s because of your nickname, Lennox ‘Lights Out’ Monroe.”

I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. “You’ve been doing research.”

“It’s not hard. It’s your brand, isn’t it? The nickname’s catchy. Violent, but catchy.”

I looked up, amused and taken aback. “Violent?”