The smell of her body wasn’t quite as nice as it had been when we both had access to showers every day, and I could only imagine that my own wasn’t too pleasant. Still, Blair smelled nothing like the reek of the man stinking up the bus. Blair’s scent of salt and sweat and skin mingled into something earthy and somehow sexy.
Then again, maybe as a professional athlete, I was prone to find things like sweat and dirt a little sexier than most guys.
“Why are you whispering? Even if he could hear us over the rattle and cough of this junker bus, what are the chances he understands English?”
“Here’s a pro tip for you, world traveler. Always assume everyone knows how to speak English.”
“Fair point.”
More people spoke English than anything else, especially in the Western world. I knew that, but we seemed so far away from everything out here. Like maybe we were two college lovers backpacking their way through Thanksgiving break, intent on seeing new things and experiencing them together.
I wouldn’t mind being that guy. Especially if Blair would consent to being the girl.
Whether or not she would under normal circumstances, she kind of had agreed to it for now. The cover had been her idea, so she couldn’t get mad at me for playing it up. Especially now that she’d been the one to touch me first—and she hadn’t complained when I’d done the same. We were making progress. My initial reaction was pleasure, because nothing would improve this little vacation more than getting to know Blair well enough to have a little fun, but then our conversation a few minutes ago replayed in the back of my mind.
You can’t trust everyone, Sam. People are assholes.
Her included? It was hard to admit, but that she had spent time working cons with her dad bothered me. The way she’d tensed up when she’d admitted it triggered a negative response, too—almost like she hadn’t meant to tell me the truth. If it was the truth.
No. I was being stupid, overly paranoid because of the situation. She had found me, not the other way around. She wanted to help. And Quinn knew her. He would warn me if he thought she was dirty—not in a fun way.
The bus shuddered to a stop a few minutes later, every bolt and joint creaking and groaning in protest. It bellowed a huge cloud of exhaust, the odor overtaking anything else that might have found its way onto the curb as I followed Blair into the Bosnian evening.
“Are we close to the border? Like, will they check our passports here?”
“I don’t know. Don’t think so.” She wandered down the platform, away from the thin crowd of our fellow passengers.
Some seemed to be getting air and stretching their legs, grabbing snacks from the smattering of vending machines or braving the toilets, but others hurried away, intent on getting home, maybe, or catching another bus to somewhere else.
“So, what are the chances your dad is hiding out in Serbia? I mean, I know they don’t have a nonextradition treaty, and those places are pretty hard to come by these days, but still. It’s not that parts of it aren’t nice, but it’s not an easy place to spend thirty million dollars of my money.”
Blair didn’t reply, leaning on the crooked wooden railing and staring off toward the mountains. The November air had a sharp chill to it, one that made me shiver, but even out here with no jacket, she didn’t seem to feel it. Or it didn’t bother her, maybe.
“Where are you from? Originally?” It seemed as though she piqued my curiosity more with each passing day, instead of the opposite, which was more typical for me. I wanted to understand what made her tick, guess the reasons she tried to ignore our chemistry so I could convince her to ignore them.
“New York City.” Even though she faced away from me, the smile was clear in her voice.
“You loved it there.”
“I still do. But Florida is okay.”
“Florida’s a shithole, Blair, and as two people who have seen a good portion of the world, we’re uniquely qualified to make that assessment.”
“The weather is nice.”
“You don’t seem to mind the cold.”
She turned then, the wind whipping long strands of brown hair in front of her face. When she brushed them away, her cheeks were red, her dark eyes bright. “I like the chill. I miss the seasons while I’m in Florida. You’re from there, though, aren’t you?”
There she went again, spouting offhand knowledge that she really shouldn’t have. It was possible that Quinn or Toby had mentioned it, or even that I had said something to her while we were in St. Moritz—heaven knew I wasn’t sober enough while we were there to recall the details of every conversation—but it had happened enough times now that I knew she had to be lying. About being a tennis fan or not being attracted to me, I couldn’t be sure. And it made my stomach twist into an impressive knot.