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"That doesn't count."
"So you don't want to watch me run around in a bikini?"
"Oh, I do, but I don't concede the point."
"Let's call it a tie," I say.
"I think we both know the truth."
"You wear Vans," I say.
"And you don't?"
"Vans were founded in Anaheim."
"Exactly."
Damn. He's good. "Okay. You win. I'm the true Californian."
"Don't worry. I have avocados in the fridge." He shoots me a knowing look.
"I…" I can't lie. "I love avocados."
"I know." He smiles.
I melt.
* * *
We talkabout nothing over dinner. We watch an old movie. We fuck on the couch, shower, dress.
I fall asleep in his bed.
And I sleep well. Easy.
In the morning, I feel rested and refreshed and alive.
I want more. I want everything. But I have school and I'm grateful for the distraction too. I don't trust myself to stay here and not fall for him.
Still. I don't want to wait until next weekend. I want something soon.
So I leave a note.
Have to run to class. Then read a bunch. I saw the details on the party from Luna. Let's stop by for an hour. Meet you there? Saturday at seven? Then back here? Or maybe on the balcony.
XO,
Imogen.
P.S. Textme tonight and I'll have a picture for you. But only if you say please.
ChapterNineteen
PATRICK
Before Deidre died, I took one thing seriously: work. (Not that I showed it).
I craved one thing: mastery of my work.
