Page 95 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

“But you still like me?”

“So fucking much.” There’s another word I want to tell him, but I don’t want to scare him. I’ve never said that word to anyone, but now it’s screaming through my mind like a siren whenever I see Cal.

Cal beams, and maybe he knows anyway.

“I probably wouldn’t have contacted you,” I say.

His smile goes wobbly.

“I mean, I wanted to contact you in general,” I assure him. “One day. Obviously.”

His eyebrows slide up.

Which is totally fair. Maybe my heart would have exploded or something before I managed to reach out to him.

“I didn’t want to make things difficult for you in front of your boss,” I say.

The words are lame, but his eyes are still soft because he’s fucking amazing like that. Because he likes me even though I’m difficult. Even though I’m not shiny and even though I say the wrong words.

“That’s considerate of you,” he says. “But I missed you. My days aren’t the same without you in it. I like spending time with you, and I want to continue to spend time with you.”

My heart does that wild beating thing again.

I’m not supposed to have those words said to me. People are supposed to whisper when I enter a room and scurry away when I get too close.

But there Cal is, right in front of me, saying he likes me.

And then because Cal is super amazing, he tilts his head, and I tilt mine because I completely know where he’s going and really, really approve, then he kisses me.

And it’s the best thing ever.

Because we’re not on an island, wondering if we’ll survive.

We’re safe.

He could be anywhere else in the city, but he’s here in this apartment.

And it’s fucking amazing.

I break away from kissing. “Sex!”

Cal stares at me, then starts to laugh. Wild, violent uncool rumbles that fill the whole apartment and bounce over every wall.

“What?”

“Sex.” I nod multiple times. “We’re not on the island! Like, we can do it!”

“You’re right.” He chuckles, his laugh so big and bold and bright that his head tilts back, and all I can do is clutch onto hishand, in awe that so much joy resides in him, that worries don’t have to be worries, that happiness is so close and wonderful.

I rush to the bedroom, then turn my head, because maybe it’s not proper etiquette or something to run away.

He’s right behind me though, and next thing I know, he’s colliding into me, because apparently there’s something called inertia or something and that amount of weight on socked feet doesn’t just stop.

He crashes into me, and I hold out my arms. We don’t fall because that’s what my muscles are there for.

“Sorry I stopped. I wanted to make sure you were behind me.”

“I’ll always be behind you,” he says, and I laugh.