Page 23 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

I caught his eye and he quirked a brow as he waited for her to pull up the picture. I smiled and shrugged. Liv was one of those people you could almost mistake for passive-aggressive, if she weren’t so laid-back about everything. Despite her quirks, I’d always liked her, but a part of me also envied how carefree she was. That ability to stumble through life without ever stopping to worry what anyone else thought. Maybe it was all the weed.

She shoved the phone in his face. “See?” She turned the screen back toward herself and held it up to compare to his face. “It’s like someone ran your picture through one of those gender-swap apps.”

“She’s got red hair, all right,” he said without much enthusiasm. His indifference cemented my earlier assessment—he wasn’t interested in Liv, but his friendliness didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in me, either. I needed to make some sort of move. Show my hand. But I’d need to be careful about it, because I couldn’t let him think my own interest had anything to do with the podcast.

The elevator pinged to announce its return right as Liv was in the middle of trying to persuade us all to join her in the hotel bar for a drink.

“I don’t know.” Jo gave Peter a significant look. “We’re pretty exhausted after today. I think maybe it’s better if we head to bed for the night.”

“It’s only one drink. We could—oh.” His eyes widened in realization. “Yeah, ziplining totally wiped me out.”

After drinking yesterday, I was keen to space things out. And I was hoping to maybe talk to Declan outside our neighboring rooms, which seemed more likely if I went upstairs now as opposed to waiting. “Us, too,” I said, without really thinking. Jo arched a brow, silently seeking some sort of confirmation, and I realized what it had sounded like. Embarrassment warmed my face. “Us meaning me. I’m going to bed. I can’t speak for anyone else.”

The rumors were going to write themselves at this rate, which was all fine and good, but I liked to control the narrative if I could help it. I wished someone would say something to change the subject or at least say good night, but the silence seemed to stretch longer than normal. Peter was still holding the elevator. I was almost scared to look at Declan, but my gaze darted to his without my brain fully complying. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or embarrassed to find him withholding a laugh. His eyes glittered with amusement. “Margo’s right. We should probably be getting to bed.”

Right. So he ignored my blatant attempts at flirting, but he was more than happy to play along that we were already sleeping together. Because that made things a hell of a lot easier to figure out.

Whatever confusion my own comments had generated only deepened. I felt everyone’s eyes on me, but I was too busy wanting to bury my face in my hands to register their expressions. After exchanging a few quick good nights with Liv, Peter withdrew his foot and the elevator doors slid shut. I didn’t particularly want to look at anyone, but looking at my phone seemed like a pretty obvious avoidance tactic, so I pretended to be interested in picking at a loose thread in my shorts. My face was on fire. They could hike me back to the top of that mountain and use me as a lighthouse right about now.

We rode to the third floor where Jo and Peter disappeared down the hall—Jo with a pointed look over her shoulder that demanded I explain myself later—and then Declan and I were alone in the elevator. We were standing on opposite sides: me with my back against the railing, him inspecting the safety certification tucked into the plastic sheath above the buttons.

Okay, so maybe I was a bit rusty. Or maybe I just didn’t know how to talk to him, stripped of my usual moves.

“They haven’t had this thing inspected in three years,” he said, pointing.

“Seems dangerous. People could get stuck in here.” The words came out throaty, strangled by embarrassment. I cleared my throat. “Sorry about what I said down there. I was just thinking about the fact that our rooms are right next door, I didn’t mean—”

“You’re good.” He moseyed over and leaned his back against the rail beside me. Closer than we needed to be. His arm brushed against mine, and it sent a jolt through me. Maybe I hadn’t completely botched this. “I thought it was pretty funny, actually.”

I didn’t quite see which part was funny. “How so?”

“Did you see their faces? They looked like you just told them you’re selling all your things and moving to Montana to be a cattle rancher.” Which didn’t sound like a bad idea at the moment. Declan laughed at his own joke, but he got away with it because he was one of those people whose laughter lit up their whole face—crow’s-feet crinkling the corners of eyes that threatened to be swallowed up by pure joy. “Especially that new chick. She had no clue what to say.”

I couldn’t help laughing myself, but more out of relief than anything. The elevator doors sprang open and we exited side by side. “Do you always get a kick out of uncomfortable situations?”

“Only when people insist on reuniting me with my long-lost cousins.”

“So it was a picture of your cousin.”

He tossed me a wry smile. “The world may never know.” We arrived outside our respective—separate—rooms. “Well, good night,” he said, unlocking his room with the keycard.

I hesitated. I had made a habit of not putting myself out on a limb because it was far too easy for someone else to leave you hanging there, feet dangling and feeling like a complete idiot. That was what the first rule of the podcast was all about: playing it safe. Holding all the cards and not sticking your neck out if you didn’t have to. I hadn’t asked a guy to hang out since probably the seventh grade.

But if today had taught me anything, it was that maybe I needed to learn to take a few risks. And if this whole no-rules thing was supposed to result in any actual content, it would help things along if I—you know—actually broke a rule or two. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

He paused with his hand on the door handle, obviously surprised. His eyebrows did something funny, but whatever it was, he quickly reined it in. “I was thinking of going for a hike,” he said slowly, “but I’m open to suggestions.”

It wasn’t the sexiest of activities, if you asked me, but maybe that was a good thing. So long as I went along with whatever he already had planned, he couldn’t suspect me of using him for the podcast. “I like hiking. Jo and I try to hike the trail in Griffith Park every other weekend. I could join you,” I offered. “As long as you don’t mind if I bring some sangria.” Drinking every other day was acceptable while on vacation, I reasoned, and it was something of a ritual for me and Jo to take sangria on our hikes. Plus the calories and the workout canceled each other out, I was pretty sure. Nutrition was never my strong suit.

“Wouldn’t it be better to bring water?” he asked, because nutrition probably was his strong suit, along with everything else that fell even a little bit under the STEM umbrella. “Or at least Gatorade, or something?”

“It’s not like we’re hiking Half Dome. How bad could it be?”

His forehead crinkled. “Whatever you say. Meet you here at …” He consulted his smartwatch, and it occurred to me that I had never seen a smartwatch on an actual human before. As glued to my phone as I often was, smartwatches struck me as kind of dorky. But he was hot, so I’d let it slide. “Let’s say eight tomorrow?”

Eight a.m. sounded like my own personal hell. If people changed after high school, then maybe he’d turned into one of those fitness junkies who shoveled down a couple tablespoons of powdered pre-workout every morning before sunup. That would explain the physique. But I nodded anyway. “Sounds great.”

And just like that, I’d broken Rule Number One.