"You go out first," I whisper as he buttons up his shirt. “And don’t say anything dirty again!”
"Don’t run from me again.” He says it teasingly, but his dark eyes are deadly serious.
He bends down to give me one last kiss, then picks me up and moves me away from the door.
When he's successfully escaped, I shut the door and lean against it once more. I let my head fall back, laughing incredulously to myself. My bones are like mush--whether from the near miss, or Zane's kisses, I couldn't say.
But that half-painful, half-ecstatic soaring and diving feeling?
What can I blame that on?
Chapter 16
It sucks that Zane is an hour and a half away in L.A., but we are always on the phone with each other, and he drives down to see me whenever he can. We still have to sneak around because I’m paranoid we’ll run into my mom—which is why we avoid the local spots. I’m torn between wanting to show Zane off to people I know, and wanting to keep him my own smug little secret. He doesn’t seem to mind either way. We go to movies in different towns, have dinner at restaurants so exclusive and fancy, I’m certain no one I know can afford them.
Oh, and here's something that really annoys me: everywhere we go, girls are constantly hitting on him! Blatantly, and right in front of me—when, clearly, we are together. Zane reacts with a practiced friendliness that suggests it happens to him all the time. I, however, don't handle it nearly as well as he does. Yeah, it turns out I'm a jealous freak who has no problem telling a b she needs to back the hell off. Zane thinks it's funny, but it really bothers me. Who knows how many girls are all over him when he's home in L.A.? Does he flirt back? I obsess over it, but I can't bring myself to ask him about it, or ask him to define our relationship. I'm afraid of what he'll say.
I like the times we just hang out at the beach at night best. We talk about everything and anything. I tell him about my boring day at school, he tells me about a complex project he's working on.
That’s what we’re doing right now. Hanging out at the beach.
“Okay, are you sure you want to see this?”
I sit on my knees, facing Zane. His profile is to me, he's sprawled in the sand leaning on his elbows and watching the waves crash to shore. The breeze blows gently through his short dark hair, but tosses my locks mercilessly about.
“I am dying to see a picture of you as an adorable ten year old girl,” Zane says mock solemnly. “Come, on, let’s see it.”
“Okay.” I’m clutching the picture in my hand. “You’re going to laugh, so I forgive you in advance.”
I thrust the picture at his chest. He takes it and squints at it in the softening light. Then his eyes widen. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “Is this the girl that ate you?”
“Ha, no. You’re funny.” I snatch my picture back. “So I was super fat. It’s my father’s fault. He never hugged me.”
“So, what, you ate him?”
I punch him in the shoulder. “You are so mean.”
He laughs, and grabs my hand. “Okay, I’m sorry. Can I see it again? I promise I’ll be good.”
“You’d better,” I huff.
I hand the picture back to him, and he studies it carefully. I don’t really mind his teasing—heck, I know I was a brick house. But showing him my fat ten year old self feels kind of like a confession. Will he look at me differently now?
“You were cute,” Zane says finally, handing it back to me.
“I was not,” I correct him. “I looked weird. I had that light blonde hair with this skin color, and the funny-shaped eyes. I looked like an alien. A fat blonde alien.”
“Nah. You were exotic.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay. So, what did you look like as a kid?”
Zane sits up, bringing his long legs up and resting his arms on his knees. “Ah, you know, about the same as I do now, except shorter. And adorable, of course.”
“Yeah? I bet you were a little brat.”
"Me? Nah, I was a good kid. When I was, I don't know—five, maybe—I used to tell everyone I was Chinese."
"What?" I start laughing. "Why?"
Zane shrugs, smiling a little as he scratches his chin. "I don't know. We had a Chinese cook. I guess I liked how she talked. Okay, I guess I was weird."
"That is kind of weird," I agree. "What did you want to be when you grew up? Did you always want to be a software engineer?"
"Hell, no." He chuckles. "Uh...a school janitor. What? Don't laugh." He nudges me with his shoulder. "I liked the green coveralls."
"Oh, yeah, I can totally see you in those," I say, nudging him back. "You would look hawt."