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It's big. There's a seating area with a TV and a couch, a section of six bunks with privacy curtains, and a small kitchenette.
Ethan places my suitcase on one of the bottom bunks. "This one is yours."
"Great. Thanks." I shift my weight between my legs. I'm still right at the bus's entrance. He's all the way over there. Only the bus is small enough that all the way over there is only five feet.
He moves closer.
Closer.
Closer enough to touch me, hug me, kiss me.
He looks down at me. His breath is steady. His blue eyes are filled with something I can't place.
His lips look soft.
But I can't think like this. We have to be friends. He'll throw me away again, and I won't survive that.
I take a step backwards. I need to say something, do something. "I… I'm hungry."
I swallow hard.
God, I really have no tact.
"I was going to get tacos at a place down the street." He grabs an Angels cap from one of the bottom bunks. "You want to come?"
"Won't you get recognized?"
"Not with this." He pulls on the baseball cap.
"Yeah, right. Go Angels. How are they doing?"
"Season hasn't started yet." His lips curl into a smile that lights up his eyes. He's endeared by my nervousness. "Place has great guacamole."
Damn, my weakness.
Okay, dinner. I can do dinner. Friends have dinner, and Ethan and I are friends.
"Sure," I say.
He slides his arm around my waist and guides me off the bus.
We're friends.
Just friends.
But the way he's touching me doesn't feel remotely platonic.
Chapter Nine
Violet
The Mexican restaurant down the block—it's more like half a mile—is a hole-in-the-wall place. Its menu is scribbled in chalk above the counter, but then I don't really need to look at the menu. I already know what I want.
Ethan and I get in line.
As usual, he is effortlessly cool. I'm a nervous wreck but I'm doing an all right job keeping that to myself.
I press my lips together. "Your cap is really red."
