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Other than Luca, I wasn’t particularly close to anyone in the group. We partied together often, but I wouldn’t spill my deepest, darkest secrets to them or anything. In fact, I was starting to resent their presence because they took time away from Sloane.
“It’s a shame to waste a beautiful day like this,” I said when I came within earshot of her. We’d stopped at one of Mallorca’s hidden coves for lunch, and while we weren’t the only ones on the beach, the early-October crowd was sparse enough to give us relative privacy.
“I have sun, sea, food, and a good book,” she said without looking up. “I’m not wasting anything.”
I sat beside her. “We have different definitions ofgood,” I drawled.
She didn’t respond.
When I was a kid, my friends and I used to argue over which superpower we’d rather have. I’d fluctuated between flight and invisibility, but right now, I’d sell my Ferrari for a glimpse into Sloane’s thoughts.
Fuck it. There was only one way to get her attention. “We should talk about our kiss.”
Her movements stilled. Then slowly, deliberately, she slid a bookmark between the pages, closed her book, and looked up. It was seventy-eight degrees, but goosebumps coated my skin like I’d walked into a meat freezer.
“We never kissed.” She enunciated each word with terrifying precision.
“Technically, no, but we almost did. So let’s talk about it.”
Sloane’s knuckles whitened. “There’s nothing to talk about. It was late, and we had too much to drink. Period.”
“So it doesn’t affect our relationship in any way.” “Of course not.”
“Then you have no reason to avoid me.”
Recognition of my trap flared in her eyes. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“I didn’t say you were,” I replied easily. “I said you had noreasonto.”
Sloane inhaled an audible breath. I could practically see her counting to ten in her head. “Is there a point to this conversation?”
“I just wanted to clear the air about Sunday night.” “Consider it cleared.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
We sat in silence for a second.
“Is there anything else?” Sloane asked pointedly.
“Sure. If you could have any superpower, what would it be?” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “Xavier…” “Indulge me. This is what people do. Talk.” I gestured between us. “We’ve worked together for years, and I don’t even know your favorite food.”
That was a lie.
I knew she loved sushi because it was neat and easy to eat on the go. I knew she preferred double cheeseburgers when she was on her period and steak, medium rare, at client dinners unless her client was vegetarian, in which case she ordered soup and salad.
She liked her wine white, her coffee black, and her gin with a splash of tonic.
I knew all of these things because despite her assumption that I paid attention to no one except myself, I couldn’tstopnoticing her if my life depended on it. Every detail, every moment, all filed and categorized in the Sloane cabinet of my mind.
I would never tell her any of that, though, because if there was one thing sure to send Sloane Kensington running, it was the possibility of intimacy.
“Fine,” she said, bringing me back to the present. “I’d choose time travel so I could go back and fix any mistakes I make.”
“But then your life wouldn’t be what it is now.”
She glanced away. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” The crash of waves filled the silence.
