I hum noncommittally and open the group chat with Mateo and Oliver. They have to be close to boarding their flight for Australia by now, which means I have limited time for advice. I can’t use the audio-to-text feature or send a voice memo, my preferred methods of texting, so I slowly type out a message, spending half the time fixing typos.
How do you kill a crush? Is that possible? Need answers ASAP.
Two responses come back almost immediately.
Mateo: I’m not the right man to ask. I’ll let you take this one, Olly.
Oliver: Does the person do anything that annoys you? Can you latch on to that until the feelings are gone?
I steal a look at Sofía as she records the drive, phone pressed to the glass. There’s not a single thing she does that bothers me. I’m frustrated with the way she views and values herself, but that’s a product of the environments she’s been in.
Nope. She’s perfect.
Mateo: Is the “she” you’re referring to named Sofía?
Ugh. Yes. Things are getting sticky here.
Oliver: I would say avoid her at all costs, but you’re kinda stuck together.
Mateo: I don’t know how to help you, man. You know I’m the last person who should offer advice on this.
Oliver: Try hypnotism
Horrible idea.
Mateo: Maybe not. You could look for a spell. Charlie might have one.
I love my friends, but this is the worst advice I’ve ever received.
Maybe that long plane ride will knock some sense into you two.
Use it to think of some better ideas.
I slip my phone back into my pocket. That did nothing to squash my crush. Mateo should recognize my struggle. He spent years working beside Charlie while harboring intense feelings. Shit, I don’t know how he did this for two years. The man is stronger than I am.
Two weeks into this trip with Sofía, and I’m hanging on to the end of the rope of what I can handle. The fruity perfume. The soft smiles. How she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear when she’s nervous. When she lets her personality shine, leaving behind the barriers she’s created for herself.
The rain overnight has turned the landscape into bright, mottled greens, with mountains reaching toward the sky behind fields of banana trees and sugar cane. Doug’s favorite ’80s rock plays in the background, and my knee bounces while we drive to the first creek.
A manicured finger taps the exposed skin on my thigh. Once. Twice. Three times.
My focus turns to Sofía, her swimsuit cover slipping off her shoulder, revealing bronzed skin and a thin black strap. I gulp, fixing my gaze on her face. She clutches her bag to her chest, thepurse like a shield as she lowers her voice to a whisper, leaning in close.
“I never asked if you were seeing someone back home before I sprang my idea on you.”
I swear I’m imagining a nervous tremor in her voice.
My throat dries. “There’s no one at home.”
“No?”
Does she think I would agree to this if I were dating someone?
“I’m totally open to being your fake boyfriend.” I gulp again, my throat like sandpaper, and ask, “Is there…are you seeing anyone?”
I’ve never wanted to hearnomore in my life than I do right now. She’s quiet, before she finally says that magnificent word. “No.”
“Sofía’s given up on dating,” Molly cuts in, and Sofía’s face falls. “Shame, really. I think a little fling could be fun.”
