“Well, there is only one logical way we’re going to survive this,” I say, gathering up the 87 tongue depressors and getting to my feet.
Lucas eyes me curiously. I stand at the door and put one foot in front of the other until I have the room mapped out. 120 square feet divided by two leaves each of us with 60 square feet to call our own. Of course one person will get the exam table, but the other person will get access to the bathroom, so our two autonomous nations will have to institute some form of trade.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I nudge him with my foot. He’s in the middle of my tongue depressor divider line.
“Giving us a border. It worked for Korea, it can work for us.”
My tongue depressor DMZ doesn’t keep him out of my side for long.
“Hey, you have to formally ask if you want to come into my space.”
“You kept the food on your side.”
That wasn’t an accident.
He rifles through our stores and then settles on an apple. For the next ten minutes, I listen to him crunching on it with my teeth gritted.
“How can you be so resigned to this?”
He assesses me over his half-eaten apple. “Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t mind being stuck in here with you?”
I laugh. “Hilarious.”
He shrugs and bites off another piece of apple. He’s either practiced his straight face in a mirror or he wasn’t being sarcastic just then. None of my training has prepared me for option two.
“Listen, enough with the therapy. I have one last idea for how we can get out of here.”
He doesn’t humor me with a response, but I continue anyway.
“If you hoist me up, I can reach those panels in the ceiling. I’ll pop one off and climb out through the air ducts. When I find the time, I’ll come back for you.”
He finishes his apple and tosses the core into the trashcan on my side. I’m still waiting for him to reply when he heads into the bathroom to wash his hands in the sink. He pats them dry slowly and then walks back out, leans against the exam table, and crosses his arms. His eyes meet mine. He tilts his head and he studies me. I sweat under his gaze.
“Why do you want to get out of here so badly?”
I frown. “Isn’t that obvious? Who wants to be stuck in quarantine for 24 hours?”
“No, you don’t want to be in here with me. Why?”
“If you don’t know by now, after all of our history—”
“I think you want me to kiss you again.”
My mouth drops open and words slip out like stones plopping into water. “Me? Want. You. Want. Kiss? Again? HA.”
Shockingly, he doesn’t understand my new dialect of English.
“It’s just a theory,” he says, then calmly changes the subject. “Let’s play a little game: truth or dare.”
“We don’t have time for games.”
This is the first time that comeback doesn’t apply. We have nothing but time. I sigh.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes at having to indulge him. “Dare.”
“Let’s start slow. I dare you to give me that chocolate chip cookie you stuffed in your pocket earlier.”
How many eyes does he have?!
“No!” I pat my pocket to ensure it’s still tucked away safely. It’s my tiny sliver of hope in an otherwise bleak existence, and to keep it, I have to change my choice. “Fine. Truth.”
He smirks, pleased. “Have you fantasized about our kiss in the hallway?”
Chapter Seventeen
Lucas is making a real show of eating the cookie I surrendered. It’s filled with those big chocolate chunk pieces and I’m sure he doesn’t even appreciate them.
He shoves the second half back into the cellophane wrap. “I think I’ll save the rest for later.”
“Or you could give it to me.”
He arches a brow. “Oh? Are you ready to answer the question?”
“Not so fast, asshole. It’s your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
My imagination runs wild with the possibilities. The chance to force Lucas Thatcher do anything I want him to. I can’t screw this up.
“I dare you…to…” My eyes wander to the bathroom door.
“I’m not licking the toilet, Daisy.”
“Ugh, fine. I command you to give me the other half of that cookie.”
He seems disappointed as he hands it over, and I try to guess at what he was hoping my dare would be. Something funny? Something sexy?
HOUR 3
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What everyone does in these situations—I’m turning inanimate objects into friends. Tom Hanks had Wilson, and I have Gary.”
I hold up the blue nitrile glove I craftily stuffed with cotton balls. With a Sharpie, I drew Gary a face.
Lucas smiles for a fraction of a second before turning and shaking his head.
“We saw that,” Gary and I say.
HOUR 6
Lucas is napping and I’m going through his things. I’m not normally a snoop, but I’m so bored. I was counting the freckles on my arm when I looked up and noticed the pile of his things sitting on the counter. Car keys. Stray coins. Wallet.