Carlos sips his iced coffee. “I don’t think you should go. You’ve never been to New York before and—”
“I know you don’t like him,” I say. “But that’s just because you don’t know him. He was a jerk in Colorado, yes, but since then he’s been amazing. He’s really making an effort to change. He texts me every day, tells me how much he misses me, and the fact that he wants me in New York with him is huge. It’s just for the weekend, you probably won’t even have to do anything. But just in case my grandma calls, I need you to be my alibi.”
He grips my shoulders with both hands and stares down at me. “All right, I’ll cover for you. But you have to promise me you’ll text me so I know you’re safe and he hasn’t whisked you off to Monaco and made you his bride.”
“I will.” And I lean across the table to wrap my arms around his tall frame. “You’re the best.”
“And promise me you’ll come back with your V-card,” he adds unexpectedly.
I almost choke on my coffee, covering my mouth with my hand and clearing my throat. “Since when do you care about my V-card?” I ask, my voice low.
“Since you seem to be taking a lot of risks for this guy, and I want you to be careful. I don’t want you to...lose yourself.”
I smile and shake my head. He’s right, but I won’t lose myself. I feel like Tate found me and I’ve never been less lost. I know exactly where I’m supposed to be. “I can’t promise that. But I love you,” I say, sipping my coffee. “I’ll text you when I land.”
He looks like he’s about to caution me one more time, but then changes his mind. “Love you, too.”
*
The day is clear and free of smog as the jet rises above LAX, and all of LA seems to glisten.
I can’t believe I’m really doing this. I don’t even know who I am anymore—this girl who skips school, calls her boss to get out of work, and flies across the country to spend the weekend with a boy who makes her feel reckless and wild and capable of almost anything. The old me never would have been this bold.
But now, sitting in a first-class seat, staring out the tiny oval-shaped window as the sun breaks against the horizon, I’m not afraid anymore. For the first time, I feel like anything is possible.
NINETEEN
NEW YORK CITY IS A glittery mass of lights under the dark sky and a nervous excitement buzzes inside me as the plane touches down.
Hank is standing at the baggage carousel waiting, and he grins when he spots me and carries my suitcase out to a black Escalade. The city feels alive as we make our way through Manhattan, skyscrapers towering overhead, people moving up the sidewalks as a light rain collects on the front windshield. I can’t believe I’m really here.
We finally slow to a stop in front of a towering hotel and a uniformed man opens the door for me, holding an umbrella. A bellhop retrieves my suitcase from the back of the SUV and wheels it under the awning out of the rain.
“Your key, milady,” Hank says when he meets me at the curb, handing me a plastic key card. Then he turns to the man who’s holding the umbrella over my head. “She’s in the penthouse.”
The streets are glistening in the rain. A reflective sheen that sparkles beneath the line of car headlights.
“Tate will be back at nine and you have dinner reservations at nine-thirty,” Hank explains to me.
“Okay.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Charlotte,” he adds. “He missed you. So did I.”
“Thanks, Hank,” I say, touched, and he walks back to the driver’s side door.
The man with the umbrella gestures for me to follow him and we step through the glass doors. I slow to a stop, taking in the arched gold ceiling and the crystal chandeliers. People sit on low-backed sofas and carry cocktails from the lobby bar. It’s the most elegant room I’ve ever seen.
“Miss,” the man says, holding the elevator doors open for me.
I catch up to him, stepping inside the mirrored elevator car, and he waves his key card over the panel, then presses the PH button. The elevator begins to glide upward and I hold on to the brass railing, tilting my head up like I could watch each floor pass as we climb higher.
“Your room,” he says when the elevator finally stops, waving to the single door across a short hallway. I hold my own key card—the one Hank gave me—over the square panel and the light flicks to green, unlocking the door.
I step through the doorway into a suite that puts the lobby to shame. Chandeliers are suspended elegantly over the living room and dining area. White couches face an already-lit fireplace. Airy curtains hang beside massive, floor-to-ceiling glass doors that lead out to a huge balcony.
“Do you need anything else?” the man asks, setting my suitcase just inside the room. I shake my head and he retreats back into the hall, the doors closing behind him.
I stand for a moment, staring, then I catapult myself onto the king-sized bed, sinking into the sky-blue pillows and fanning my arms wide.
I shriek and then cover my mouth, laughing.