Page 67 of Between Us

“She doesn’t work Wednesdays. Excuse me for being worried,” Margo argues.

“Of me being at my dad’s vet clinic?” I teasingly ask.

“I don’t know,” she dramatically states. “I don’t like being ignored.”

“Don’t we know it,” Meera mutters. But before Margo can snark back, she reminds our friend, “We called for a reason, and Blake probably hasn’t read our texts yet.”

“I have not,” I agree.

Back on track, Margo asks, “I know it’s kind of last minute, but how do you feel about getting an Airbnb this weekend?”

My brows furrow as I ask, “I thought we were just going to stay at one of our houses?”

“We can, if that’s what you want,” Meera insists.

“And we obviously vote yours.” Mine is either the least crowded, or the least strict between us three.

“It’s just so nice having privacy, and as excited as I am to be home for a week, I’m not ready to be around my entire family.” Margo is the oldest of five, so her house can be a bit crazy at times.

“Yeah,” Meera agrees. “We were just thinking that it would be nice to have some actual alone time together. I have some… things to catch you up on.” Her voice squeaks at the end which has my mouth dropping.

“Bitch,” Margo practically groans.

Meera laughs but continues, “Things I definitely don’t want my parents, or brothers, ever finding out.” She’s the youngest of three, and her entire family acts as if she’s basically the first daughter of the country.

I see where they’re coming from—and it makes sense. Maybe I’d even feel the same if I were in their places. Yet it’s one of those times when I have a stark reminder that I’m not in the same place in my life as them.

They talk over each other for a few minutes until Meera cuts in. “What do you think, Blake? I can look right now.”

Shaking my head, even though the only person who can see me is Adrian. “I can look. You should be asleep. I’m fine getting an Airbnb, if that’s what you guys want.”

“It is,” Margo insists.

As she and Meera continue making plans for the week they’re home, Adrian taps on my shoulder. Looking up at him, he gestures to my phone. I mute it, looking up at him expectantly.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“What? Oh, the Airbnb. No. They just want somewhere to have a sleepover this weekend.”

He nods before scrunching his nose and biting his lip for a quick second. “You can use my apartment.”

“What?” I ask, stunned and certain I didn’t hear him correctly.

“Don’t waste the money on a bunch of bullshit fees.” His sudden—and random—hostility toward Airbnb makes me laugh. It’s always the most random things that irk him. “I’m going to visit my parents this weekend and make up the hours next week.”

He mentioned that when he drove me home the other day.

“I… I can’t stay at your apartment…?”

“But you’ll stay in some random person’s apartment? What if it’s some weirdo who puts cameras up in the bathroom?”

It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing at this ridiculous conversation.

“What ifyouare the weirdo with cameras in the bathroom?” I argue because what do I even say to him right now?

With a cheeky grin, he says, “At least you don’t have to worry about me spying on your friends.”

My eyes narrow on him, and my lips purse to hold the smile at bay. “You… are something else.”

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