“Sure,” I say, unfazed by the flirting. It’s what most of the bolder guys do in the beginning. They tell me I’m beautiful, and then they ask to hang out so they can show me off to their friends, and then they grow bored and come to the inevitable conclusion that I’m far more fascinating when I’m an enigma. So much more desirable when kept at a distance. If they’re nice enough, I’ll go along with it, but I no longer fall for it.

“Sure?” Oliver repeats. “Hey, where’s the enthusiasm? I’m about to blow your mind. You should know that my pickup lines have a one-hundred-percent success rate.”

“Right,” I say.

“Okay, tough crowd, but I can work with it. Listen to this …”

But I’m not listening. Because in the same moment, someone behind me says: “Leah?”

I spin around, my chest seizing at the voice.

Cyrus is staring at me, a thick, blue-covered novel and boarding pass in his hand. He looks about as shocked as I feel, and after a few seconds of pure, incredulous silence, he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, like maybe there’s a speck of dust caught in his lashes that precisely resembles my shape.

The one exception. Life would be infinitely easier if I were also desensitized to his solemn, dark gaze and the visible cut of his collarbone, but my pulse rate skyrockets. The magical quality of the airport lighting seems to favor him more than anybody else.

“You’re going on this trip too?” I demand.

An odd expression ripples over his face before he folds his arms across his chest. “Well, yeah. I never would’ve thought you’d be coming—”

“Hang on.” Oliver steps in and looks between us, his pickup line abandoned. “Do you two know each other?”

“No,” I rush to say. “Not at all.”

“We know each other very well,” Cyrus answers just as quickly.

“If by very well you mean that I have dreamed of murdering you,” I mutter.

Cyrus’s gaze flits to my face. Lingers an extra beat. “So you’ve dreamed of me?”

“Ah, I get what’s going on here,” Oliver says, snapping his fingers. “You two hooked up once, didn’t you? Summer fling or something? Feeling kind of awkward because you’ve seen each other undressed and now have to travel around a country together? I get it.” He nods to himself. “I’ve been there. Well, not this specific trip, but like. You know. The other stuff.”

I fear I’m about to become the first human in history to spontaneously disintegrate. But before I can express my absolute disgust at this suggestion, I catch a glimpse of Cyrus’s expression. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted in silent protest, and the sight of his embarrassment is all too satisfying.

And that’s when it hits me.