Page 83 of Collide

I shrug. “What about him?”

“Oh, come on, Elena. You two were practically sparring with each other all through brunch. I swear, if sexual tension could be bottled up, we’d have enough to start our own perfume line.” She folds her arms. “Be honest. What do you think of him?”

I take a long sip of my iced coffee, stalling. “I think…he’s annoying. And smug. And entirely too full of himself.”

Philippa raises an eyebrow. “And attractive?”

I groan. “Fine. Objectively, yes, he’s attractive. But so is a fire, and you don’t stick your hand in the flames just because it’s pretty.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “I’m just saying you seemed…aware of him.”

“I was aware of how irritating he is,” I correct. “Trust me, there’s nothing to talk about there.”I lie, because admitting the truth—even to myself—isn’t something I’m ready to entertain.

“I’ve never even had a relationship, so I genuinely have no idea what this all is. I’m just going with the flow,” I add, hoping for some sisterly wisdom.

“Never?” she asks.

I nod, staring at my hands. Relationships had always felt like something other people figured out—like an inside joke I wasn’t in on.

“Look, I get it. Relationships can be terrifying. You’re putting yourself out there, and that’s not easy. But if you spend all your time overthinking, you’ll miss out on something amazing.”

I frown, running my hand through the nearby rack. “What if I don’t even know what I want?”

She squeezes my arm. “Then let yourself figure it out. No rush. No pressure.”

I glance at Philippa, full of confidence and so sure of herself. Poised, like she was born under better lighting.

“You know,” I say, nudging her, “for all the times you annoy me, I do appreciate you.”

She gasps loudly, clutching her chest.

“Elena Montgomery, was that a moment of genuine sisterly affection?”

I scoff, immediately regretting it.

She closes her eyes, tilts her face to the ceiling.

“Hold on. Let mesavorit.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.

Just a little.

Chapter 13

How Will I Know

The few days leading up to our trip to San Diego blur past in a whirlwind.

Riley moves into my apartment the day after brunch—a relief for both of us. I don’t have to worry about her safety anymore, and she doesn’t have to worry about her art supplies becoming ferret casualties.

We pack together, our suitcases filled with swimsuits, sundresses, and too many shoes, the excitement humming between us.

Our flight is the final cherry on top. First class.

Our first time ever, together, which makes it even sweeter.

Courtesy of the label, of course.