Page 31

We’ve been here for an hour, but it feels like five minutes have passed.
“Got somewhere to be?” She lifts her brows.
“Right here.”
She orders another round of drinks and I move to water. Her leg presses against mine, and she’s warm. I’m tempted to place my hand firmly on her thigh, but I don’t. No lines will be crossed.
“I have a feeling you’ve never gotten caught up in a moment,” she says.
My eyes glaze over as I try to recall my life in a snapshot of memories, of sketches. “Not really. And I’m never late. It’s my number one pet peeve.”
Her face softens, and I think I see …pity? “That’s …reallydepressing. It’s not the flex you think, unless you’re eighty.”
“First time anyone has ever told me that. Being punctual is anexcellentquality to have.”
“If you’re a nerd or an ass-kisser.” She shrugs. “I’m on time to work but late everywhere else, especially to parties. Sometimes, it’s about arriving once the room is warmed up and everyone has moved past the awkward stage of the night. I can remember the very first time I nearly missed something important.”
“Really?” My brain can’t comprehend the carelessness.
“It was my thirteenth birthday party. My mother almost canceled because they couldn’t find me.”
“Where were you?” I ask, intrigued.
She snickers. “Lying in the rain. I stayed there while the mountain drops stung my skin. My parents werepissed, but it was an experience, one that I’ll never forget. When I think back on my life, I’ve got a lot of adventures like that.”
“Sounds like something that’d never happen to me.”
“Have you ever howled at the moon in your underwear until you were hoarse, or hiked part of the Appalachian Trail until you had no idea what day it was anymore?”
“No. I’ve done other things though. Like raising over a billion dollars and enriching people’s lives.”
She frowns. “Okay, that’s great. Incredible. The world needs more philanthropists. But what aboutyourlife, Easton? You have no idea what it’s like to be purposely lost.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t trade places with you. No way.”
I think about days and times and my schedule for the next year, realizing none of it includes spontaneity. I’m by the book; I follow the rules and do the right thing. Weston is right; maybe I need to take more chances.
A flash in my peripheral vision catches my attention, and I glance out the front windows. There’s a man across the street with a long lens, and I think Brody spots him at the same time I do. He points to the exit and I nod.
I turn back to Lexi. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Because you have somewhere to be?” she counters.
“Because I want to besomewhere elsewith you.”
I close out our tab and set hundreds on the bar top. She grabs her flowers and we approach the door.
Brody shoves something cool into my hand. “Weston told me to give you these.”
I look down at the keys to the Mustang and shake my head at his car choice.
Clever bastard.
“Did you know about this?” I ask Brody, but as he opens his mouth, I interrupt, “We’ll talk about it later.”
Lexi follows me, and when she’s closer, I place my hand on her shoulder, leading her toward the exit. When we step outside, I stand in front of her, blocking her from the view of the camera across the street.
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking up into my eyes.
“I’m sorry, paparazzi. I want to protect you from the rumors,” I tell her.