Page 4 of Commit

“I was cold…and it was bright.”

Matt nods slowly.

He knows I’m bluffing, but I’m not about to take my disguise off now. I need it for my walk of shame out to the curb.

“You’re the only girl I know who could get stuck in a baggage carousel,” he says.

I point behind me at the rotating belt. “That was not?—”

“It’s so you,” he says, dropping his arms. He bends down and grabs his bag, but I hear the words he says under his breath. “Part of your charm.”

And suddenly, I’m back to the first day we met.

CHAPTER 2

REMI

TWO YEARS AGO

“This game is boring,” Chelsea says as she lies back against the bleachers, sticking her pale legs out. “If I have to be here supporting Miles, I might as well get a suntan.”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” I say. “You’re interested in Miles. I’m watching adult men play soccer for no reason.”

“There’s a reason.” Her eyes flick to mine. “You’re my support buddy.”

“No, you said we were going to the grocery store. I’m being held hostage here with the promise of $4.99 almond milk.”

“First of all, you’re paying way too much for almond milk. Second of all, this is a quick stop.”

“Quick? We’ve been here for an hour.”

“It’s fine. I think the game is almost over anyway.”

“Do we have to stay until the end?” I whine.

“Yes. What’s the point of coming to Miles’s game if I don’t stick around and talk to him at the end?” She gives me a look like she’s a thirteen-year-old girl who just said duh.

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

“I know how we can make things interesting.” Her lips quirk into one of her playful smiles. She points to the batting cages past the soccer field. “I dare you to go over to those guys in the cages and give them pointers about hitting.”

“I’m not doing that!”

“Why not? It would be so funny.”

It would be funny, and I am bored, but I don’t do dares for the fun of it. There needs to be something in it for me.

“What are you going to give me if I do it?” I ask.

“I’ll give you a ride to the grocery store.”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “You’re already doing that.”

“Fine. I’ll do your laundry for one week.”

That’s a pretty sweet deal. The laundromat is across town from our dinky apartment, and it smells like the color brown inside.

“Two weeks,” I challenge. “If I go over there and make a fool out of myself, I want my laundry done for two weeks.”

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