Page 62 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess
“Aw, my fake boyfriend doesn’t want me to get murdered,” she coos, and I can’t help my smile.
“Nah, I just wouldn’t want it on my conscience,” I say.
“Har har,” she says, but I can tell she’s not offended. “Now prepare yourself, I’m turning on a light. Hurry up and do whatever you need to. We need to go.”
I use the restroom before quickly shoving on some clothes. Then, with Maya’s sarcastic “har har” still on my mind, I send a quick message to Hanan, because she says the exact same thing. My pulse quickens a little at the thought that Maya really might be my anonymous friend—the one I’ve started to develop feelings for. The one who always tells it like it is, who never lies to me or just says what I want to hear. The one who accepts the parts of me I rarely let anyone else see—the relaxed, laid-back version of myself.
Me:What are you up to this weekend?
There. If she answers that she’s at a wedding, I’ll know it’s her.
Of course, that would mean…
That would mean that the obnoxious jerk she’s been talking about isme.I wince at this realization, stowing my phone in my pocket and trying to set that train of thought aside, before I give in to the urge to interrogate Maya about any anonymous online friends she might have.
“Okay,” I say to Maya once I’ve returned to the living room of the suite. “I’m ready.”
“Excellent,” she says, getting to her feet. She’s dressed in a long-sleeved t-shirt and the same pants she wore yesterday on the drive. Neither look particularly warm.
I gesture to her clothes. “Are you going to get cold?”
“Maybe. I didn’t bring a jacket,” she admits. “It was dumb. But I forgot about this whole sunrise thing—oh,” she says, breaking off as she takes the sweater I’m holding out to her. I was going to put it on, but she probably needs it more. And she’s going way out of her way to see this sunrise; she may as well be comfortable so she can give it all of her attention.
She slips the sweater over her head, emerging a second later with messy, rumpled hair. Once again, just like yesterday, some primal part of me surges with satisfaction at seeing her wearing my clothes. That feeling only intensifies when she tugs the front of the sweater up to her nose and inhales deeply, her eyes fluttering closed as she smiles a little.
“Mmm,” she hums happily. “Smells like you.”
“Like me?” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice unaffected, even though I want to bottle that little sound she just made and put it in my pocket.
She nods, opening her eyes. “You smell dang good, fake boyfriend. Were you not aware of this?”
I shrug. “I mean, I wear cologne.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, giving the sweater one last sniff before dropping it. “I like it. Now let’s go; I don’t want to miss it.”
Even though I’m a grown man at a hotel and perfectly allowed to leave the building whenever I like, somehow sneaking out with Maya makes me feel like a teenager again. Not that I was the sort of teenager to sneak out, because I wasn’t. I was pretty much as straight-laced then as I am now. Immature in a lot of ways, but not prone to bouts of rule-breaking. Besides, going to a party in the middle of the night would have been my worst nightmare growing up. I didn’t like socializing with large crowds then any more than I do now—I’m just better at it these days. So leaving the comfort of my bed to climb out my window? It wouldn’t have been my idea of fun.
Sneaking out now, though, tiptoeing down the hall with Maya at my side, her curves draped in my shirt…well, it’s more enjoyable. We slip down the stairs and nod to the man behind the desk, his feet propped up, a book in his hands. He looks surprised to see us but just returns our nod, watching us all the way out the door.
“He probably thinks we’re going somewhere really sketchy,” I whisper to Maya.
“Why are you whispering?” she says back, and I pause.
“I don’t…know,” I say slowly, my voice normal now, though still quiet. “I guess it’s just dark and no one is around.”
“Solid points,” she says with a nod. “But we’re outside now. Let’s go!” she adds, picking up the pace until she’s skipping along rather than just walking. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
I doubt we’re going to miss it. I pull my phone out of my pocket and look at the time: six-seventeen. Unless I have something important going on, I’m never up this early, and in March, neither is the sun.
We make our way around the hotel, finding the sandy path using our phone flashlights. Each one of our steps gets softer as the sand becomes more plentiful beneath our feet, until finally we hit the beach proper. Maya stops in her tracks and pulls her shoes off, so I do the same, and then we keep going.
The sky isn’t pitch black anymore; it’s threaded with purplish-gray and a lighter purple toward the horizon, and it’s getting easier to see by the second. I wait for Maya to choose a spot, and when she plops down unceremoniously on a random patch of beach, I sit next to her. I rub my arms against the cold, sitting cross-legged in the sand. Then I look at her.
“This better be worth it,” I say.
“Shut up,” she says, nudging me with her shoulder. “Of course it will.” She hugs her arms around her torso.
“You’re still cold?” I say. “Even with the sweater?”
