Track 27
ARIZONA
Idropped a few postcards into the mailbox for my mom one Saturday morning.
I was slowly coming to terms with my new non-Carter filled life, and even though I still woke up some days feeling numb and occasionally broke down and cried in the middle of the night, I was faring way better than I was when I first got here.
I was making plenty of new friends in my classes, talking to Nicole once a week via Skype, and whenever I was feeling lonely, I wandered out to the coast.
Since there were no beaches here—only jagged rocks and rough waters that knocked against them, I would lay back against my blanket and shut my eyes—pretending I was back at home instead. I would envision sunny days and warm sand, and for once, I wouldn’t be bothered by the tourists.
My plan for “make-believe beach” was derailed today, though. In my usual spot, a group of people dressed in grey tuxedos and pink dresses were preparing for a wedding, so I headed to a nearby café.
I ordered a pastry and a water, and sat by the window—trying my best to catch a glimpse of the ceremony, to see what true love looked like up close.
“Do you mind if I join you?” My classmate Sean, a gorgeous guy with green eyes and an American accent, suddenly stepped in my line of vision.
“I don’t mind.”
“Great.” He held out a white mug. “Do you like orange blend?”
“Never had it.” I took it from his hands and sipped it slow; it was amazing. “What are you doing here?”
“Tracking you down to see why you stood me up,” he said, smiling. “We had a date yesterday. Did you forget?”
“What?” I raised my eyebrow, confused.
“You don’t recall me saying that I’d pick you up from your flat at six for a night out?”
I remembered. I just didn’t think he was serious, so I’d gotten into bed and gone to sleep early.
“I’m so sorry, Sean. I thought you were just joking.”
He smiled and sat down, moving his chair close to mine. “Do you also think I’m ‘just joking’ when I call you every night and we talk on the phone for hours at a time? Or when I only ask you to stay behind after study sessions and we hang out all night at my place?”
I blinked, confused again.
“Arizona …” He leaned forward and ran his fingers through my hair. “I’m trying to go out with you. How else can I make that any clearer?”
I blushed, now feeling like a complete ditz. I’d thought nothing of our nightly phone conversations, weekend bike rides through town, or private study sessions.
“I just thought you were being a nice guy,” I said.
“I am a nice guy.” His fingers were still in my hair. “Outside of the bedroom …”
My eyes widened and he laughed—leaning even closer.
“I don’t know what else I can do to make you see that I’m interested,” he said softly. “Tell me what it takes.”
I swallowed, looking him over. This was the second time in my life I’d failed to realize how sexy and attractive a guy was. With sun-kissed blond hair, deep green eyes, and a mouth that was too tempting not to try, he was definitely sexy as hell.
“Are you going to tell me?” he asked.
I hesitated. “What do you mean by go out?”
“I mean you’ll actually hang out with me with the impression that I’m more than a nice guy.” He looked into my eyes. “A guy who actually likes you. It also means you’ll let me take you out to the city tomorrow.”
“What if I’m busy tomorrow?”
“If implies that you’re not, so I’ll force you.”
“How romantic.” I laughed. “Nonetheless, yes. I’ll go out with you.”
“Good,” he said, standing up and stepping back. “I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”
“Wait,” I called out. “You were kidding about that bedroom comment, weren’t you?”
He looked over his shoulder and smirked. “I wasn’t.”
Blushing, I watched him walk away and sat in the café a little longer, wondering if our day in Paris tomorrow would come with the cliché “falling in love atop the Eiffel Tower” moment.
I knew one thing for sure though, I was starting a new compatibility spreadsheet for us; I needed to check off the “intensity of the kisses” category with him ASAP.
When I finally arrived back home, I noticed there was a new letter from Carter on my table.
I stared at it for a while, running my finger along the flap—along the words, “URGENT: Please Open Me, Ari,” but I couldn’t bring myself to open it.
Just not right now.