Page 92 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“Is that my excuse now? I almost died; therefore I can act like a jerk to the people I care most about?”

“I’m one of those people?”

“Well, duh.”

He laughs out loud. “Well, good.”

Our eyes lock as the elevator door pings and the doors slide open. “This is my stop.”

“Mine, too.”

We exit, our arms brushing as we walk down the hall. I have a strong feeling of déjà vu, like we’re reliving last night, only this time two things are different: Connor’s room is on another floor, and someone wants me dead.

Maybe that was true yesterday, too, but I didn’t know it.

I still can’t absorb it.

I stop in front of my room. The air feels pregnant with our thoughts, but what does that mean, exactly? So many expressions we use without thinking about it.

“Give me your key,” Oliver says.

“Why?”

He gives me a look that says not to ask, so I dip my hand into my purse and take out the right key this time. He takes it from my hand—did his fingers linger for a moment too long?—and opens my door.

He steps inside and starts to look around. He crouches down and checks under the bed.

Great. I want to sleep with him and he wants to search my room.

So romantic.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure it’s safe.”

“What if it’s you I have to be worried about?”

Oh, bravo, El. That will bring him running right to you.

But it does. Not running but walking toward me in slow motion.

What was in that wine, anyway? Oh, alcohol. Right, right.

“You do.”

“I do?”

He stops when he’s inches from me and the air shifts. I’ve felt this energy before, and it always—

Wait, wait, wait. No spoilers.

Not even for me.

His hand goes to my face and touches my cheek gently. “Do you think you’ll be all right in here?”

“I’ll lock the door.”

“And throw away the key…”

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