“You don’t have to keep doing that, you know.”
“Doing what?” She looks mystified.
“Thanking me. There are other things we can talk about.” I sound more impatient than I mean to, but come on. She and Luc talked about everything from what makes Chile such a kickass snowboarding destination to their favorite kind of chocolate and everything in between—not that I was listening, or anything. And all she has to say to me is thank you, over and over again?
It’s annoying.
I don’t want her gratitude, especially not when I was such a dick to her. And I sure as hell don’t want her looking at Luc with those hazel eyes of hers all sweet and innocent as he closes in for the kill. I don’t know why it bothers me—maybe because I know she is sweet—but I can see her getting caught up in him. Surely there’s something we can discuss besides the ridiculous gratitude she keeps throwing my way.
It’s not like I deserve it. It’s not like I’m here for any reason other than I was totally maneuvered into it by my little brother and best friend. She knows it, I know it. Pretending otherwise just makes me uncomfortable.
I grab a Coke from the narrow fridge at the end of the kitchen, watch as Tansy grabs a Dr Pepper. I wait impatiently for her to respond but she never does. She just takes a long, slow pull from her drink and then turns and starts back toward the couches.
But not before I see the flash of strangled emotion in her eyes. I curse myself. I wanted to make things easier between us, to get rid of the awkwardness and instead I just made it worse. Not that I blame her for being uncomfortable—I did just jump down her throat for nothing. For less than nothing.
I reach out then, snag her elbow before she can get too far away from me. “Does anyone ever thank you?” I ask, when she stiffens at the contact.
“For what?”
I give her an are-you-kidding look. “For all of this.”
“This is my job. I’m supposed to do ‘all of this.’ ”
“No. I don’t think so.” The plane hits an air pocket and we drop a little. Tansy stumbles and I reach out to steady her before she can slam against something. As I do, I try to ignore the fact that she smells like vanilla and brown sugar and everything sweet in the world. Just like I try to ignore the images running through my head, of her beautiful, delicate body moving beneath mine.
“What—” Her voice breaks a little and she wets her lips before trying again. I’m absurdly happy to see that small sign of nervousness. Of awareness. Her voice never faltered once when she was talking to Luc. “What do you mean?”
“You’re really good at this,” I tell her once I drag my thoughts out of bed with her and back to the subject at hand. “You totally went above and beyond what anyone else would d
o.”
“I think you have me confused with you and Z. I mean, you could have said no. This is eight days out of your life. Eight days, when the average Make-A-Wish lasts one. And as for Z …” She smiles so sweetly that I can barely resist the urge to lean forward and lick my way across the generous curve of her mouth. “None of this would be possible without him. Of course, he takes being thanked about as well as you do.”
“Yeah, well. That’s Z.” She starts to turn away, but I take hold of her elbow, hold her in place. “Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?”
She freezes for a moment, then shrugs. “I get a paycheck. Same as everybody.”
“I don’t buy that. There are a lot easier jobs out there.”
I’m trying to hold her eyes, to see what’s going on inside her head, but she looks away again. This time, though, her shoulders are tense and so is her jaw. She doesn’t look upset exactly. Just … uncomfortable.
“I’m new,” she finally says. “I haven’t been doing this very long. In fact, Timmy’s the first wish I’ve gotten to handle completely on my own.”
“Really? That surprises me.”
If possible, she stiffens even more. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’ve done a great job with it. Organizing a trip down to Chile on such short notice couldn’t have been easy.”
“With the amount of money Z gave me, it wasn’t that hard, either.”
“Still. You got me here, didn’t you?”
“I’m pretty sure that was Logan.”
“Jesus.” I run a hand through my hair in exasperation. “You could just take a compliment, you know.”
Her eyes jerk back to mine, and for the first time all day—maybe ever—I get the feeling that I’m seeing the real her. A little guarded, a little vulnerable, a lot suspicious.