Chasing Crazy - Kelly Siskind Page 0,78
bring it up.
Leigh’s barbed humor and snarky remarks are just the things I need to stop my mind from spinning out of control, and I couldn’t be more thrilled for her and Paige. Like Sam and me, they’re always touching in some way, sneaking glances simmering with heat. Leigh hasn’t opened up to anyone back home about her sexuality, but at least here, in this far-flung land, she can be herself.
When I turn to add the last few spices to the overflowing pot of curry, Leigh says, “Fuck me,” her tone none too happy.
A high-pitched laugh assaults my ears—the sound of a hyena being tickle tortured. “You ladies are a sight for sore eyes. Callum will be chuffed to see you.”
I swivel as Bruno wags his thick eyebrows, his olive skin darker than the last time I saw him. Glancing nervously behind him, I exhale, relieved, when neither Brianne nor Reese walk in. Maybe he and Callum ditched the girls to travel on their own.
Bruno leans on the table to kiss both of Leigh’s cheeks. “Bellissima,” he cries.
She sits rigid, arms locked at her sides. “I thought you were British.” Each word is clipped. Strained. She’s been dreading running into them.
The night of Leigh’s blowout with Reese, the whole thing played out in private. We’ve dissected it a few times, trying to guess what she told Bruno, Callum, and Brianne about Leigh’s sudden departure, wondering if she outed her or fed them ridiculous lies. Since we’re all on the same travel trajectory, meeting up was pretty much inevitable.
When Bruno wiggles his eyebrows and says, “Half British, half Italian—if you fancy, I can show you which half later. Love the short hair, by the way. Very Posh Spice.”
Leigh snorts and I relax. Apparently, Reese kept her mouth shut.
“Interesting,” she says. “I would’ve guessed half British and halfwit.”
He barks a laugh and stands to face me.
I force a smile. Like Leigh, I haven’t seen Bruno in a while, not since the Hot Soup Incident. With each passing second, I hunch lower and press closer into Sam’s side. Please don’t look at my boobs. His focus stays on my face. “Nina, luv, smashing to see you.”
Bruno is a good guy. With one simple sentence, he avoids the Hot Soup Incident and my subsequent disappearance. I release a lengthy breath.
He glances from me to Sam—to Sam’s hand around my hip, his legs visible in his shorts. Bruno scrunches his nose. “Sam, mate, what the hell? Those are some beastly scars.”
Instead of replying, Sam leans into me. “Did you hear that, Canada? I’m feeling kind of vulnerable. Like really low. I think I need a pick-me-up.”
He squeezes my hip, and I roll my eyes.
Sam’s gotten pretty used to the stares and comments to the point it barely fazes him. I set the precedent, though, making out with him whenever the issue comes up. Now he takes advantage. Frickin’ Hot Guy. “Get down here,” I say as I drop my spoon on the counter and tug his neck.
With a groan, he latches onto my waist and kisses me with abandon, not a thought to our audience.
“If I light myself on fire, will Nina snog me like that?”
I try to pull back, but Sam nips my bottom lip. “Not on your life,” he says to Bruno, his ravenous gaze on me.
Bruno shrugs. “Can’t blame a bloke for trying. Looks like your travels have been eventful. What else have I missed?” He strides to the table, straddles the bench, and glances from Leigh to Paige. “And this lovely lady is?” He quirks his head at Paige, who looks about to punch him. The girls aren’t one of those “opposites attract” couples. Between the two of them, the dirty looks that fly would shame a death row inmate.
“She’s mine,” Leigh says.
Bruno’s jaw drops and I spill some curry.
Leigh’s definitely owning herself in New Zealand.
Bruno closes his mouth, his eyes dancing. “A very eventful time indeed.” He shakes his head and studies the flower-filled room. “Looks like someone ate my nana’s house and threw it up in here. And that smells divine, Nina. Any chance you’ll have some extra?”
I stir the curry to keep it from bubbling over the sides. “I think I can make it stretch.”
As I reach for some bowls, Callum and Brianne stumble into the room, each clutching a bottle of vodka. Brianne? Shoot. Leigh’s shoulders almost hitch to her ears, and her lip curls; if she were a dog, there’d be a ridge of fur bristling