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I’ve come to understand that every time I get a text from an unknown number, it’s Xi’s new phone. I guess these sorts of things come with dating someone who needs to be a shadow. He’s untraceable. Nothing can be linked to him, and he’s a terror to the environment with all these phones he throws away.
I glance up to see him leaning against a tree, a black baseball cap on and the hood from his hoodie drawn over his head. For once, I’m assuming he’s not doing it to be invisible but more to protect himself from the terrible rain falling on us. I run to him, and he catches me in his arms, grabbing me by the waist and allowing me to wrap my legs around him as he lifts me.
His lips crash on mine, my arms curling around his neck, and we kiss as if we haven’t seen each other in months. It’s only been a few days, but after spending time with my parents last week, I feel complete and safe being back with him.
“What are you doing here?” I smile, catching my breath as I slide back down to my feet. “Coming to classes with me? Don’t tell me it’s because your work brought you here. I want to feel a little more special than that.” I flutter my eyelashes at him, making him chuckle.
That’s basically rolling on the floor from laughter on the ‘Xi emotions chart’.
“Work didn’t bring me here. I came because I missed you. You’rethatspecial.”
“Oh, Ziad Benhaim.” I pronounce his name Zee-ad, like I heard his mom say, slapping his chest. “You’re making a girl blush.”
“What did you just call me?”
My heart drops when I realize that might have been a mistake. “I’m sorry,” I babble. “I heard your mom…I thought that’s how you pronounce it.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s not angry. Just shocked. “Don’t fucking apologize, Alex. That is how you say it.”
“Why don’t you correct people?”
He shrugs. “I used to when I was a kid. Then I got tired of it. It would annoy me when people struggled to say such a simple name under the pretense that they didn’t hear it often since it’s not American. So I just left it.”
“I’m so—” I cut myself off. “That’s unfortunate,” I say instead. “I’m surprised you let people call you Xi.”
“That was a weird misunderstanding,” he explains as he grabs my hand. “In my last year of school, I barely followed anything in class. I used to draw instead and sign my art X. I.” With his index finger, he writes it in the air between us. “My teacher thought it was a nickname I’d chosen. Xi. So everyone started going along with it. I did too.”
I play with his fingertips, tapping them with mine. “It wasn’t Xi you were signing?”
“No. It was eleven in Roman numerals.”
A laugh leaves me when I get the misunderstanding. “Why would you sign your drawings eleven?”
“It was an artist name I wanted to give to myself. Eleven was a,” he looks into my eyes while he searches for the right word, “defining age for me. It was the year before we learned about my dad’s illness. Everything was so much simpler. So peaceful. No responsibility. After that, it all went to shit. Suddenly I was the man of the house. I started working. People relied on me. Childhood was over for good. Eleven was great.”
I give him a small smile as I put a hand on his cheek. It’s wet. We’re both wet from standing under the rain like two hopeless lovers. “I know you don’t think so, but you turned into a great man, Ziad.”
He snorts. “I didn’t.”
He brings a hand to the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my damp hair. He pulls until I’m gazing up and into his eyes. “So I made you blush?” And I know our moment of talking about his past is over. “I’ve got many more ways to make you blush. Why don’t I show you?”
I giggle, feeling my cheeks heat. The corner of his mouth tips up before he moistens his lips. “But first, I’m taking you to lunch.” He lets go of my hair and grabs my hand instead.
“Oh, I can’t.” I shake my head, not following as he takes his first step while I hold him back. “I’ve got another class in five minutes. I could do dinner?”
His hand on mine tightens. “No, I’ve got something tonight. I want to spend time with you now.”
“I hear you, but I don’t want to skip class.”
His eyebrows shoot up before a glint of malice glitters in his gorgeous eyes. “Alexandra Delacroix. Don’t tell me you’ve never skipped a single class.”
I feel the embarrassment creeping up my neck. “I’ve had a severe upbringing.”
“What about last week? When I took you to my house.”
“I didn’t have any classes that afternoon. Look, my dad would never let me skip.”
“You’re not meant to tell your daddy about it.”
