12. Marcus

12

Marcus

The Grand Canyon stretches before me, a vast, breathtaking expanse of red rock and shadow. It’s one of the world’s greatest wonders, yet all I can focus on is ensuring I don’t plummet to my death.

Saskia’s at the guardrail, looking down, while I’m standing a few feet behind her.

She turns to me, her oversized sunglasses on her head, the breeze whipping her blonde hair around her face.

“Are you going to come here for a photo?” she asks.

I’ve never shared my fear of heights with Saskia, but apparently, that’s about to change because there’s no fucking way I’m getting any closer to that edge.

“I don’t like heights,” I say.

“Really? How did I not know that about you?”

Your brother worked it out almost immediately when he saw my reaction on a ski lift.

But I’m not thinking about Seb now.

“Maybe the Marcus Wikipedia page doesn’t contain every single fact about me,” I say.

She smirks. “I’m starting to think I need to update my Marcus Johnson user manual. Any other surprises I should know about?”

How about the fact I have a friend-with-bennies thing going on with your little brother?

There’s no way I’m saying those words to Saskia. Especially not when there are cliffs around that she can hurl me off of. I have no doubt Saskia is smart enough to make it look like an accident.

“I guess the only other surprise is that my true passion is collecting belly button lint. But I was hoping to keep that one under wraps.”

Saskia laughs as she loops her arm through mine as we head toward our tour guide.

“Hey, look at that lizard.” She stops to point out a small lizard with a dark blotch on its side scurrying across the rocks.

Fuck. And I’m thinking about Seb yet again, wondering what he’d say if he was here, what facts about reptiles he’d share.

He’d love it here, I’m sure. He’d tell me all about the formation of the mountains and facts about the unique plants and animals.

I take a deep breath as we get into the tour van.

I’d thought this trip would be a detox from Seb. Which I decided I desperately needed.

It weirded me out when I realized I’d somehow stumbled into an exclusive arrangement with Seb.

But Seb made it perfectly clear he expected me to play around on this trip. And I’d left New Zealand with that intention.

Yet, for some reason, I can’t bring myself to even flirt with any of the guys I’ve met.

Saskia is finding it strange and is hassling me that the real Marcus must have been body-snatched because I’m letting so many hot American guys go to waste.

But it’s not only that I don’t want anyone else that is concerning. It’s the fact I have this overwhelming urge to message Seb.

Not even for sexting. Just to see how he is. To find out how his summer internship is going. To find out his exam results, whether he’s decided what his major will be.

Everywhere we’ve gone, I’ve thought about him and what he would say if he were with us. I imagined how excited Seb would have gotten at the Redwood National and State Parks when our guide explained how the trees communicate through underground fungal networks, how he’d have loved the geothermal activity at Yellowstone National Park and been fascinated by the fact Alcatraz was originally home to colonies of pelicans rather than prisoners.

The sun is just starting to set, painting the sky an array of oranges and purples, the shadows in the canyon deepening to an inky blue.

Despite the beauty, the foreignness of the landscape makes me think about how far away from New Zealand we are right now, which causes an ache in my chest.

But I have the sneaking suspicion I’m currently homesick for a person, not a place.

Two nights later, we’re in Las Vegas, getting ready to go clubbing.

I let Saskia put some eyeliner on me. She takes her task seriously, the tip of her tongue poking out as she concentrates on applying the eye pencil evenly.

She pulls back to admire her handiwork with a satisfied smile. “You look smoking.”

“Let’s just hope I don’t come near any ignitable material then.”

She giggles. “Right. Let’s go dance.”

The night is cold, fitting as it’s winter in the desert. I’m wearing a fitted black shirt that clings to my torso, paired with dark jeans that hug me in all the right places. Saskia’s dressed in a sparkly silver mini dress, her long legs accentuated by sky-high heels.

We have to queue to get into a club. The line snakes around the block, with the neon lights of the strip casting an otherworldly glow over the crowd. Snippets of conversations in various languages float over the distant thrum of bass from inside the club. Vegas really is an international playground.

Inside, the club is a futuristic fantasy come to life, with holographic dancers projected alongside real ones. We find ourselves at a circular bar in the center of the room, where robotic arms assist human bartenders in creating cocktails that look more like science experiments than drinks. Saskia orders something that changes color as you drink it, while I choose a local craft beer.

Saskia gives me a gleeful grin as she sips her cocktail. “We’re not in Dunedin anymore.”

“No, we’re definitely not.”

We scope out the club as we sip our drinks.

“You want to guess what everyone here does for a living?” Saskia asks.

“What do you reckon they’re all social media influencers and aspiring DJs?”

“Hey, don’t forget the cryptocurrency experts and life coaches.”

“Ah yes, the four horsemen of the millennial apocalypse.”

Saskia almost snorts her drink out her nose.

“That’s an attractive look on you,” I say.

“What can I say? I’m bringing the sexy snort back.”

“I guess I should be grateful you didn’t ruin my shirt, unlike the great mojito incident of 2014.”

She tips her head back to laugh. Then, she finishes the last of her cocktail and raises an expectant eyebrow. “You ready to hit the dancefloor?”

I drain the remainder of my beer. “Sure thing.”

The pulsing beat vibrates through the air as Saskia and I start to dance. A tall dark-haired guy catches my eye and starts making his way over. As he gets closer, I angle my body away, focusing on Saskia. The guy hovers for a moment, then melts back into the crowd.

Saskia moves closer to me so she can speak into my ear. “I’m starting to think I should have packed your game in my suitcase because you seem to have misplaced it. You’re ruining our reputation as irresistible Kiwis.”

“Just because I’m not hooking up doesn’t mean I’m not still irresistible,” I shoot back.

“Seriously though, you’re acting like a nun in a strip club.”

Actually, Saskia, I’m not interested in hooking up with any of these gorgeous guys because, for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about your little brother.

That voice inside my head wanting to tell Saskia the truth has been getting louder.

What would she say if she knew Seb and I had been fooling around?

Is that all you’ve been doing? the same voice asks.

I don’t know if I want to answer that question.

Maybe I should just rip the Band-Aid off and tell her. Because if Seb and I are going to continue when I get back, she really needs to know.

And I really, really want to continue things with Seb.

That knowledge seeps into me.

I still don’t think I’ll make a good boyfriend, but Seb…Seb makes me think it might be worth trying.

So, I think we definitely should tell her. But I probably shouldn’t do that without talking to Seb first and ensuring it’s something he wants.

Saskia and I fall into our usual dancing rhythm, our bodies close but not quite touching. She trails her hands through her hair as she dances, and so many of the guys around us are eyeing her up.

There’s another guy over at the bar watching me. He’s the definition of an all-American guy, with a chiseled jawline, perfectly tousled blond hair, and biceps that look like they could bench press a small car.

I avert my gaze, turning my attention back to Saskia.

I’m laughing at her dramatic lip-syncing to “Dancing Queen” when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

I whirl around to find the all-American. Up close, his dark eyes are even more intense as his gaze rakes down my body.

He sticks out his hand. “Hey, I’m Jake.”

“Yeah, I’m not interested, mate,” I reply.

“Oh, trust me, I think you might be interested in what I have to say.”