by Marni Bates
He stiffened, and once again his eyes locked on the front of the bus. “Your dad was really worried about you.”
I laughed, but the sound was utterly without humor. “Yeah, he deserves a Father of the Year award for shipping me off to Cambodia. I’m so glad we got that all cleared up. You can stop prying into my private life now.”
“It’s not really a ‘private’ life if your ex publicly announces that all it takes to get into your pants is some tequila and a quick chat about your mom.”
I reeled back as if I’d been slapped across the face. Those vicious words had haunted me for months, and there were still times I thought I’d never be able to rid myself of them.
Apparently, I had been right. They had followed me all the way to Cambodia.
“Sorry. I’m . . . I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Houston raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I know I’m screwing this up, and you can hate me for it later, but I watched you nearly climb into that jerk’s car. So if you’ve got some kind of a death wish or . . . I don’t know, a self-destructive pattern, then I want you to get the help you need.” He looked out the window before he continued uncomfortably. “Your dad isn’t the only one who cares.”
He thought I needed a shrink.
It was almost laughable. I had actually been thinking maybe we were becoming real friends—that despite my flaws and insecurities, Houston liked me—but what he really wanted was to send me to the nearest therapist’s couch.
I straightened my spine because those last few words of his had made me feel dangerously weak. “I’ll . . . consider your suggestion. But just for the record, Jake was wrong about a whole bunch of things. Including what it takes to get me into bed.”
“I’m sure Ben will be very disappointed to hear it.” Houston managed to keep a straight face for all of three seconds before we both starting laughing.
It was strange sharing an inside joke with him at first. If someone had asked me in the airport which scenario I thought was more likely to happen—that I’d accidentally steal a Buddha full of heroin or that I would ever feel comfortable around Houston—I’d have picked the drugs. I wouldn’t have hesitated over such a no-brainer. Houston was practically the male version of Mackenzie Wellesley, and I wasn’t exactly going to become besties with her anytime soon.
But even knowing that Houston was the brilliant student my dad had invited to the Christmas party . . . it didn’t intimidate me. I didn’t suddenly start worrying that he would dismiss my opinions as a waste of his time. And I knew he would never preface a dumb blonde joke with the always insulting words, “No offense.”
He was still just . . . Houston.
“It’s your turn to share, cowboy,” I decided. “Why do you care so much about my dad?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily put it that way.”
I just shot him my best oh, really? look and waited for him to crack under the pressure.
“Besides the fact that he’s a nice guy and a brilliant teacher? Your dad talked to the people in the financial aid office for me. He’s the reason I’m not living at home and applying to my local community college right now.”
I nodded and then forced myself to ask the follow-up question I probably should have already known. “Um . . . so where are you from?”
“Texas.”
“Seriously?”
Houston took one look at my admittedly surprised face and burst out laughing. “Not even close. I’m from Colorado.”
I crossed my arms but couldn’t hold back an answering grin of my own. “So how did your parents come up with the name then?”
“Funny story, actually.” He leaned back in the seat as his smile became smaller and yet somehow sweeter. “My mom went into labor three weeks early while my dad was away on a business trip. They had done all of these preparation classes together, and he had promised to be with her every step of the way. So when she went into early labor, she completely panicked. She actually called up my aunt Meredith and said, ‘My water just broke, but I’m going to Houston. Book me a ticket, will you?’ ”
“What did your aunt say?”
Houston’s smile deepened. “Meredith promised to drive her to the airport and took her straight to the hospital instead. Then she told her to just keep focusing on Houston.”
“So you were named after the city!”
“Not exactly. My dad was in Toronto.”
I stared at him in disbelief before I was the one to burst out laughing. “Um . . . what?”
“My dad is a freelance writer who specializes in agricultural issues. It’s kind of hard to explain what exactly he does, but he travels a lot in the summer and . . . my mom got his trips mixed up.”
“So what happened?” I shifted in my seat as I tried to get more comfortable, and my arm accidentally brushed against his.
Houston didn’t seem to notice, or at least he didn’t comment on it.
“My mom called him from the hospital, determined to play it cool, and said, ‘Hey, honey! How’s everything in Houston?’ ”
I giggled. “Let me guess . . . your dad let her know he wasn’t there?”
“Yes, he did.”
“What did she say to that?”
“I’m pretty sure there was some swearing involved. But she had already signed off on my birth certificate and didn’t like the idea of naming me Toronto.” He shrugged. “So the name stuck.”
“Your parents sound pretty cool. I’m guessing you told them about, y’know, the whole Neal situation?”
Houston yawned. “Yeah, but I may have failed to mention a few things. My little brother has some serious anxiety issues, so I’d rather not have them worrying about me.”
I knew he was exhausted; I was struggling to stay awake too. But I couldn’t resist asking, “What did they name your brother?”
“Denver.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Are you messing with me again?”
“Maybe.” He tried to stifle another yawn and failed. “Listen, I seriously need to sleep, so if you want to move somewhere else, now would be a good time to do it.”
“I’m fine with staying here.”
“I thought you didn’t like sleeping around other people.” The intense pressure of his stare had me quickly pretending to find the woven upholstery on all the seats absolutely fascinating.
“I don’t.”
He considered that for a moment and then shrugged. “Okay, princess. Just wake me before we get to Phnom Penh, please.”
He closed his eyes and probably would have drifted off right then if I hadn’t murmured, “Uh, Houston? One last question, I promise. Did you email your ex-girlfriend?”
Houston blinked as if he was having trouble processing the question. It had seemed fairly straightforward to me. “What’s with the fishing expedition, princess?”
“I’m curious. You said you didn’t want your family worrying, and I just wondered . . . did you email your ex-girlfriend?”
“Okay, I’m fairly sure there is some weird subtext to this question that I’m missing. But I don’t get it, and I’m pretty sure I don’t like it.”
“That’s not an answer,” I pointed out.
“No, I didn’t email Carolyn.” He stated the words slowly to make sure there was no room for misinterpretation or any follow-up questions. “Now I’m going to sleep. Wake me at your peril.”
I closed my eyes and tried to block out my hyperawareness of his body’s proximity to mine by focusing on the jolting rhythm of the bus.
“Sure, cowboy. No problem.”
Then I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 20
Phnom Penh made quite a first impression.
Enormous colored umbrellas simultaneously protected baskets of produce and shiny tourist wares; people bustled and wove around stalls; motorcycles zipped in and out at breakneck speeds. Everywhere I looked appeared to be bursting with color, movement, and the sound of outraged tuk-tuk drivers honking their discontent.
It was nothing like Oregon, but it also made me feel . . . alive. I didn’t even try to suppress my grin as I pressed my nose against the window.
“It’s beautiful!”
Houston rubbed his eyes blearily. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done to Chelsea Halloway?”
“What do you mean?”
“You hate Cambodia.”
“No,” I corrected, “I hate being tossed around in a game of parental hot potato. Cambodia, on the other hand, is . . . growing on me. A little.”
My parents were always so incredibly wrong, it was hard to admit that this time they’d actually had a point. Not about the program being a nonstop intellectually stimulating adventure—I’d nearly fallen asleep during all of Mr. Horny’s lectures—but about admiring the strength of the country. It had taken a while for me to appreciate it; mostly because of the jet lag, humidity, and y’know, whole eating-gigantic-spiders thing, but the air had a vibrancy to it I’d never experienced before. Maybe because the temples stood as proof that when hundreds of thousands of people come together to create something beautiful, even decades of genocide, starvation, and the ever-present land mines couldn’t erase it with one bloody streak. Cambodia had been kicked around and treated like crap for years, but judging from the view out my window, it was doing more than just surviving. It was thriving.
It made me feel like maybe I could figure out a way to do the same.
Although I quickly discovered it was a lot easier to enjoy the exotic atmosphere when a Plexiglas window was filtering the experience. Not quite as magical when I was part of the crowd, clutching my bags, and signaling for a tuk-tuk—only to be swarmed by four hollering drivers who each swore that they would give the best price.
Ben turned to me. “Where are we going, Chelsea?”
Change of plans, everyone. I’ve reconsidered. This is way too dangerous for us to try and handle on our own. Let’s go to the American consulate and call in the diplomatic heavyweights to deal with it.
Maybe that’s what I should have said. But I couldn’t simply accept our failure before we had even tried to change the outcome.
“The Royal Continental Hotel, please,” I instructed the two nearest tuk-tuk drivers before I climbed into one of them behind Amy.
“Are congratulations in order?” she asked me. “You sat next to Houston for a five-hour bus ride without attempting to strangle him even once. That seems like a good sign to me.”
Liz slid into the tuk-tuk behind me, cutting off all means of escape. “Did the two of you finally work out your weird damage?”
“Weird damage?” I instinctively tossed my hair, only to find that with my shorter haircut it didn’t produce the same effect. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Liz.”
“Uh huh.”
“As long as Houston doesn’t start bossing me around again, we’ll be just fine.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Sure. And there was no weird tension between the two of you whatsoever. Nope, not at all. Phew, glad we got all that cleared up.”
I stared at Amy while I tried to process the implications of what she was saying. She thought Houston actually . . . liked me? And not just in a hey, I think you should probably look into getting some serious psychological help kind of way—assuming that was even a thing.
Interesting.
Usually, I had no trouble figuring out exactly where I stood with a guy. Then again, most of the guys who tended to approach me at parties weren’t exactly subtle in letting me know that their interest was directly correlated to the amount of clothing I happened to be wearing. But I had yet to get a good read on Houston, which made it extra strange to think that Amy had a better take on the situation.
Not that this was really the time to obsess over whether some guy liked me.
That was way too high school. Even for me.
“All weird tension will just have to take a backseat,” I said wryly as we drove through the very impressive gate to the Royal Continental Hotel. “This is going to be a working vacation.”
The girls’ jaws dropped as they soaked in their first views of the hotel I had researched back in Siem Reap. The pictures hadn’t done it justice. Everything was sleekly perfect, from the stone wall outside with its gold lettering, to the cream-colored foyer with its mahogany furniture, to the immaculate cream-colored couches.
“What are we doing here?” Liz muttered nervously. “What happened to playing it safe and staying at hostels?”
“That plan got an upgrade. We’re staying in the dragon’s lair now.”
I didn’t give her a chance to demand an explanation. Instead, I sauntered over to the front desk as if I were simply strolling across the quad back at Smith High School. I learned a long time ago that if you look like you own the place, people will accept your authority without question.
Even if you smell like you’ve spent the past five hours on a Cambodian bus.
“Hello.” I smiled confidently at the woman behind the concierge desk. “I’d like to book a suite for the next four days. What do you have in the way of availabilities?”
The woman tried ineffectively to hide her surprise as she typed my request into the system.
“Smoking or nonsmoking?”
“Nonsmoking,” I answered readily, as Houston and Ben quickly moved across the lobby to join us. They both looked determined to pull me back before I could do something reckless.
Too late.
“And how many beds will you be wanting?”
“At least three. Ideally, four.”
She nodded and added in that detail.
“Our deluxe suite is available. It comes with wireless Internet, access to the club floor, continental breakfa—”
“I’ll take it.” I slid the emergency credit card my dad had given me across the desk, without so much as a shred of guilt. Trying to rescue my professor from a Cambodian jail ought to count as an “emergency situation” by anyone’s standards.
“What are you doing?” Houston hissed under his breath. “This is insane!”
I ignored him, accepted the key cards with my most gracious smile, pointed to our luggage for the bellman, and headed straight toward the elevators.
“I can’t wait to discuss our sightseeing plans,” I said pointedly to the group, “once we’ve gotten settled into our suite.”
Houston shut up, but he didn’t look happy about it. Although when I opened the door to suite 17, everyone else started grinning broadly enough to make up for his blatant frustration.
“Holy crap.” Liz hurried over to the windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city below. “This place is amazing!”
Amy flopped down on the nearest bed. “I can definitely get used to this. Maybe we should book it for a full week. You know . . . just in case our rescue takes longer than expected.”
“We can’t afford this place!” Houston pulled the credit card receipt out of my hand, looked down at the total figure, and blanched. “We really can’t afford this place!”
“Nobody is asking you to pay for it. So just relax and enjoy.”
“I can do that, Chelsea,” Ben said easily as he prowled around the room. “Hmm, I wonder if the minibar is complimentary. . . . ”
“Of course it’s not!” Houston snapped. “Don’t eat anything in there!”
Ben raised his hands in the universal gesture for “Don’t shoot!” “Okay, man. Calm down.”
But it didn’t look like Houston would be capable of doing that anytime soon.
“Chelsea, you can’t book a room like this on your credit card.”
I couldn’t help smirking. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure I just did.”
“How are you going to pay for this?”
I briefly considered lying and then straightened my shoulders. He definitely wasn’t going to like the truth, but I refused to let that stop me from saying it. “I’m not the one picking up the tab.”
“The credit card belongs to your parents, right?” Houston’s voice was
one of hollow acceptance. “That’s why you don’t care about racking up a bill. Anything to stick it to them. Am I right, princess?”
The spacious suite suddenly felt unbearably small and claustrophobic.
“Listen up, El Paso. I’m trying to rescue a man from a Cambodian prison by making a deal with a drug tycoon. On the off chance that everything goes to hell, I’m spending my last few nights on earth sleeping on sheets with a high thread count.”
Everyone soaked in that information for a painfully long moment before Amy broke the silence.
“Do you really think we’re going to die?”
I shrugged. “Technically, we could all die in a tragic tuk-tuk accident. Or get blown up by land mines or something. But yeah, I’m sure the odds of things ending badly increases whenever drug dealers are involved.”
Amy nodded, but the way she began worrying her bottom lip was a dead giveaway that she wasn’t as comfortable with the idea as she wanted to pretend. I seized the opportunity to make eye contact with each of them.
“This is the last time I’m asking. Does anyone want out?”
Liz let out a disgusted sigh. “We’re staying, Chelsea. You’re not the only one who cares about Neal.”
“Then welcome to our new headquarters.”
Chapter 21
As far as top-secret lairs go . . . ours wasn’t exactly state-of-the art.
We couldn’t access military information off the television or watch the hotel grounds via a live camera feed. But it did come equipped with something else almost as good: room service.
After more than a week of eating nonstop Asian dishes, the first bite of hamburger was downright heavenly. I mainlined french fries with a low hum of satisfaction.
It tasted like home.
I’m not even usually a hamburger person, but that didn’t stop me from keeping pace—bite for bite—with Ben and Liz. Everything on the room service tray tasted irresistible, and I wanted to do nothing more than gorge before sleeping off my food coma.
But that wasn’t really an option.
So instead I cleared off a portion of the table and positioned my laptop so that everyone could see the screen before I began my impromptu presentation.
