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“Stop it,” he says, wearingthatsmirk.
“I can’t help it,” I admit, openly eye-fucking him.
Anytime we’re together, we’re explosive, like glittery fireworks in the summer night sky.
He wraps his tattooed arm around me, not giving a fuck if people are watching. I love seeing him like this, carefree and not as guarded in public. Going away did us some good.
When we’re in the car, Easton turns on his phone, and I do the same. It’s worse than when we returned from Fiji. Countless text messages from friends and many missed calls from my brothers fill the screen. When I see my mom’s name, the guilt of disappearing weighs on me.
Easton pats my thigh. “Call her.”
“Okay.” I suck in a deep breath.
He texts Weston, and soon, his phone rings, so I take the opportunity to chat with my mother.
“Alexis?” she says, and I can tell she’s in tears. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Mom. I’m sorry. We were driving Route 66 and turned off our phones,” I explain. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she sobs. “I was devastated. It was on national news. Photos of the two of you have been posted everywhere.”
“Next time I leave like this, I’ll tell you. I promise. I’m fine. I’m happy. Just enjoying life with Easton and doing the touristy things Dad and I planned to do.” When the words leave my mouth, I feel my emotions bubble.
Easton notices, grabbing my free hand.
She’s crying now.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay, sweetie. Thank you for calling me. I’m so glad you’re safe. Everyone is worried sick. I need to make phone calls to let them know you’ve been found and you’re safe. Thank you.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too. You’re grounded.” She laughs, letting out a relieved sigh. “Come home and see me soon.”
“I will, I promise.” I apologize one more time before hanging up.
I text everyone that I’m okay with an apology. It takes an hour’s ride from the airport to catch up.
I turn to Easton. “How did everything get so out of hand?”
He chuckles. “You know how you have bad timing?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Weston’s plans always go to the extreme.”
“Oh.” I contemplate that. “So, you expected this?”
“Not this, but something dramatic. It always works out,” he explains.
I nod. “And if it doesn’t?”
A smile touches his lips. “We’ll move to Texas and rent the apartment above the salon. You’ll work at the bookstore, and I’ll open an art gallery. It sounds like a dream life I could fall in love with.”
“You’re telling the truth,” I say, not needing confirmation.
Easton smiles. “The outcome is out of my control. I’m along for the ride with you.”
I suck in a deep breath, not knowing if I’m ready to read anything the Internet has to offer.