Staying On Top(25)
It shouldn’t be so simple for him to read me. That ability could bring down this entire operation. “You ready?”
He finished his tea and nodded, dropping euros on the table to pay the check before I could ask if he wanted to split it, then stood. We nodded at the waitress, who smiled and went to count her money. For all the languages Sam claimed to speak, Slovene didn’t rank, and neither did Croatian or Serbian, the second and third most common languages in the country. I didn’t speak any of them, either, and we’d ordered our breakfast by pointing.
Sam seemed more comfortable than me with not being able to communicate. It made me feel unprepared; I rarely traveled places without knowing the language.
I would have to get used to it, or at least pretend to, since I didn’t speak Serbian or Arabic, the primary languages in our next two red-herring stops. When we returned to the car I slid behind the wheel and steered onto the vaguely familiar path to one of my father’s mountain homes.
“I’m surprised you don’t speak Serbian. Aren’t, like, half the ranked players on the pro tour from there right now? Including your most recent ex?”
His knuckles were white where they gripped the seat belt. “Not half, no. And I thought you didn’t keep up with tennis.”
“Are you nervous or something?” I responded, happy to change the subject. I loved tennis, and had watched the major tournaments and rankings since my mother had signed me up for lessons in second grade. But I had told Sam the opposite.
Dammit, that was sloppy.
“No, I’m totally comfortable riding in a stolen Jetta along mountain passes with a girl behind the wheel who spends more time in her own head than paying attention. No worries.”
He had done it again—seen right through my exterior. The mountain scenery—all rocks and trees and bright blue sky—had barely registered while my mind worked ahead on the problems to come, such as whether or not my dad would have any security at the house.
“I’m paying attention, doofus. It’s like with tennis—you never look where you’re going to put the ball, right?”
“Says the girl with no interest in tennis.”
“Okay, fine. I like tennis.”
“And you play.”
“And I play.”
“Well enough to be my hitting partner while we’re away?”
“Don’t push your luck, Bradford. I’ll drive us off this cliff right now.”
“That is so not funny.”
Chapter 7
Luck had been on my side for what seemed like the first time since my dad had sent me to complete the swindle on Sam. No one had been watching the house in Jesenice. There must be a regular maid service, because the place smelled like lemons and the sheets on the bed were soft and clean.
They tempted me; we could spend the day and night, get some good sleep, and move on tomorrow. But making Sam’s life more comfortable wasn’t going to get me what I wanted. Needed.
Which was to get the fuck out of there before I lost control. It was the only thing I had.
“This place is amazing. Seriously. I never want to leave.”
Sam wandered the front room of the house, which ran a little cold to my tastes, but was inarguable impressive. Ceramic tiles stretched out under our feet, meeting a wall of windows that overlooked a mountain pass. The sharp drop had freaked me out a bit as a girl, due to my fear of heights—I couldn’t even read the chapters in A Game of Thrones that took place in the open-air jail cells at the Eyrie without my palms sweating. Large ceiling fans stirred the comfortable air above our heads and the off-white, overstuffed furniture lent an atmosphere of comfort that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
But Sam looked at home in this room, surrounded by these things that had been bought with other people’s money. Standing with his back to me, hands in his pockets, staring into the abyss, I was hard-pressed to recall anything that had looked so . . . handsome. Desirable. Male.
The boys I had dated at Whitman and before, even Flynn, were just that—boys. Cute, or hot, or sexy, but not handsome. Not comfortable in their own skin. I had a feeling that Sam looked exactly as he did now in every single room he ever walked into, and it made me jealous. I had spent my life pretending and it appeared this guy never did.
It made me hate him as much as I wanted him.
“Well, we’re going to have to leave. Dad’s not here and I need to get back to school, so on to the next option.” I picked up my bag, avoiding his gaze. The scent of my body inside two-day worn clothes made me squirm, but hot showers were a comfort, so they were off the list, at least as long as he would let me get away with it.