"Really?" Sawyer's face lit up. Misery loves company. "Does that happen to you a lot? "
"Not a lot," I replied.
Only when people are missing, or someone's stalking me, or all my friends stop talking to me, or a sexy video of me gets sent out to my entire school, or some guy I like asks me to be his long-distance girlfriend. So yeah. Hardly ever.
"Oh." He seemed disappointed. "It happens to me all the time."
The waiter delivered our menus and I set mine aside. After eating
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here practically every morning of the trip, I had the thing memorized.
"I was having deep thoughts," I confessed, crossing my arms on thetabletop.
Sawyer raised his eyebrows as he looked up from his menu. "About what?"
"Upton," I replied.
"Oh." He looked down again and set the menu aside. When his eyes met mine, there was something guarded in them, even as he attempted to smile. "What about him?"
"He wants me to be his long-distance girlfriend," I told him. "He wants me to .. . commit."
"You don't want to do that," Sawyer said firmly. He didn't even hesitate. It was as if the words had been on the tip of his tongue for days, just waiting to vault out.
"I don't?" I asked.
"It's crap. Upton doesn't commit. It's not in his DNA," Sawyer replied.
"But he-"
"Trust me," Sawyer said in a no-nonsense tone. "Sure, he cares about you now. In the moment he's all about whoever he's with. But a girl like you . . . you're too good for him. You don't want to get in any deeper with Upton Giles. You're just going to end up hurt."
The way he said Upton's name made it sound like an insult. Like he was talking about some gross venereal disease. My face started to burn. I might have been uncertain about committing to a transatlantic
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relationship, but that didn't mean I didn't care about Upton. That I didn't think he was a good person. Yet here Sawyer was, insulting the guy to my face. Judging both of us, really.
The waiter came and took our orders. My hand trembled as I handed the menu back to him. There was a hot, frustrated anger bubbling under the surface of my skin, but Sawyer seemed oblivious. He took a sip of his water and crunched on an ice cube, leaning back in his chair.
"How do you know what kind of girl I am?" I asked.
Sawyer blinked. "What?"
"You barely know me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "How do you know what kind of girl I am? Maybe I am the kind of girl who wants to get in deeper with a guy like Upton. Who, by the way, has been nothing but sweet to me since I got here."
My words hung in the air between us. Sawyer just sat there, staring at me. He didn't blush or stammer or squirm. He didn't move a muscle.
"Sorry," he said finally. "You're right. I don't know you."
I had no idea what to say next, but suddenly I didn't feel like being there anymore. So much for a chat with Sawyer making me feel better. My foot bounced up and down under the table, expending some of my pent-up energy. I looked away and lifted my glass, preoccupying myself with a long sip.
"Are you mad?" he asked.
"No," I replied. A knee-jerk no.
'You're mad." He let out a sigh. I had yet to look at him again, but I