Page 89 of Cross the Line
I shake my head, both to turn down the offer and to clear away the thoughts that have me wanting to throw caution to the wind and declare our relationship to the whole world right this instant.
‘I’m fine right here.’ I inch as close to him as I can manage. ‘I was thinking about how I never want to leave, actually. Do wehaveto go back home?’
He chuckles and tucks me under his arm, resting his chin on the top of my head. ‘Unless you want my mom to hunt us down, we should probably drag ourselves over there in the next few hours. But until then . . .’ His other hand finds my knee and traces upward under my sundress. ‘I have a couple of ideas for how we can spend our time here.’
CHAPTER 27
Dev
I’m more afraid of facing a house full of aunties than I am of climbing into my car before a race.
Alisha’s wedding will be in Malibu – a three-hour drive from San Diego – so I optimistically thought that would prevent our family from descending on us at home in the weeks leading up to the big day. Unfortunately, it seems like everyone has decided to join us here, and I can’t escape.
Every time I try, I’m cornered and interrogated about where I’m going and what I’m doing with my life and when I plan to settle down. If I wasn’t making so much money, they’d also be complaining about my non-traditional career choice – a.k.a. anything other than doctor or lawyer or engineer. Even so, they still lob underhanded comments about how Dad encouraged me to follow my racing dreams.
Thankfully, Mom comes to my defence whenever she hears those remarks. She’s good at reminding them that I’m more successful than the majority of our family members. She also can’t help but throw in a little humble bragging, either, about how at least one of her kids is following in her footsteps of being a doctor.
It’s been a week of this. A week of being trailed by little cousins and accosted by uncles wanting Grand Prix tickets. A week of making wedding favours and pulling out my credit card to pay for last-minute additions. A week of being forced apart from Willow.
I knew the transition from spending most of our time together to having to keep our distance would be hard, but this has been fucking torture, especially knowing she’s just next door.
Oakley, on the other hand, I’ve seen plenty of. He got pushed into helping out with wedding stuff too, while Willow lucked out and found herself being invited along on shopping trips with my mom and hanging out with Alisha to do whatever brides do before they get married.
As grateful as I am for the time with Oak, it’s killing me not to blurt out, ‘Hey, man, I’m in love with your sister, and for some bizarre reason, she loves me back. Please don’t break my ribs.’
Yeah. I’m suffering.
‘I can’t believe you roped me and Chava into dancing at the garba night,’ Oakley grumbles for the millionth time as we stuff trinkets into tote bags monogrammed with Alisha’s and her fiancé’s initials. We’re sitting in my parents’ living room, raising our voices over the sound of cackling aunties and shrieking kids. ‘How come you’re not making Mark do it?’
‘Because he’s a little too’ – I point at my palm – ‘for that.’
‘You and I are literally half white,’ Oakley says, scoffing. ‘How do you know I didn’t get my dad’s horrible sense of rhythm and his love of Steely Dan?’
‘You lose your mind every time a Panjabi MC song comes on. Stop acting like you’re not excited about this.’ I shove a box of horrendously expensive chocolate truffles into a bag. ‘Besides, do youreallywant to witness Mark trying to shoulder shimmy?’
Oakley grimaces, surely imagining our extremely long-limbed friend attempting it, just like I am. ‘All right, never mind. No one needs to see that.’
No, they don’t. To be honest, I don’t want to be seen dancing either. The guest list is huge, and there’s no way clips of me won’t end up on the internet minutes after we finish our performance.
Shit, with my luck, it’ll probably be live streamed. Maybe I can beat them all to the punch and have Willow do it. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, right?
Again, for what must be the millionth time today, my thoughts shift to her. Our date last week feels like a lifetime ago, and if I don’t get her alone in the next twenty-four hours, I might combust. But the only way to do that is if I sneak out of here tonight – and sneaking out of a house full of nosy aunties? Forget it.
As Oakley continues to shove favours into bags and complain about it, I pull out my phone and send a text to Willow.
Dev:I’m coming over later. Leave the hall window unlocked
Her response comes within seconds.
Willow:When exactly is later?
Dev:Just don’t go to bed early
All I get in return is a string of question marks, but I don’t bother to reply. She’ll see what I mean tonight.
‘Who’s got you smiling at your phone like that?’
My head snaps up. Oakley squints at me, top lip lifted in a hint of a sneer, but there’s a curiosity behind it all. Shit.
