Free Where the Stars Still Shine by Trish Doller Page B

parmesan cheese and shakes his head. He’s got one curl that’s all askew and I tuck my fingers into my palm to keep from reaching out to smooth it down. “I’ve never really been anywhere but here.”
    “Where would you go if you could go anywhere?”
    “Australia, Polynesia, Central America, the Caribbean, the Galapagos—” He ticks them off on his fingers easily, as if this is a list he’s had plenty of time to think about. “Hell, I’ll even go to the Keys if it means diving that doesn’t involve me cutting sponges off the ocean floor.”
    “That’s what you do?”
    The butcher returns with a bottle of beer and a can of soda. “Pizza’ll be ready soon.”
    “It’s a family business,” Alex says. “It used to be me and my dad, but my mom got sick, so now it’s just me. I don’t mind doing it, but—never mind. Not important. Why’d you come back?”
    “I didn’t have a choice.”
    “Why?”
    “My mom got sick, too.” I’m skirting the truth, but this is as close as I want to come with a guy I barely know. “So I had to come live with my dad.”
    Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t put the pieces together. How many teenage girls named Callie come home to Tarpon Springs to live with their dads after living everywhere with their sick moms? Especially when Kat claims I am a local legend. But if Alex has figured it out, nothing in his face gives it away. He leans back on his chair. “Tarpon Springs isn’t a bad place.”
    I laugh. “Yeah, I can tell how much you love it.”
    The corner of his mouth tilts and my stomach does an elevator drop. “I still plan to escape someday,” he says. “But definitely not today.”

     
    Alex takes me to the sponge docks when we’re finished with our pizza. He offers to drive me home, but I don’t want Greg to see me getting out of some strange guy’s truck. Not when he’s already upset with me.
    “Thanks for the pizza,” I say, as Alex opens the sticky door for me, its hinges groaning. I’m pretty sure he was lying about it flying open unexpectedly.
    “Do you want the leftovers?”
    I’d never heard of putting carrots or asparagus or
capicola
—I didn’t even know what kind of meat that is—on pizza, but it was the best thing I’ve ever tasted, so it’s a tempting offer. Except Greg would definitely wonder how I managed to walk to a pizza place that far from Georgia’s house. “You keep them,” I say.
    “I was hoping you’d say that.” He grins and my whole body goes weak.
    I’m not sure what to say next.
Thank you for sleeping with me and not treating me like a whore? Thank you for not being ashamed to go somewhere with me in public? Thank you for kissing me as if you meant it?
I mean, I had sex with a stranger, followed by pizza. I don’t think there are etiquette rules for that.
    “I, um—I’d better go.”
    “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”
    “I’m sure,” I say. “But thanks.”
    For a moment, I feel like I’m a character in a book,the girl hoping the boy will tell her he’ll call. Except I’m not sure I want Alex to say it because I don’t want it to be a lie. Turns out I have nothing to worry about because he doesn’t. Instead he says, “I guess I’ll see you around.”
    As I walk home, I’m not sure what to make of the afternoon. Maybe Kat is right about Alex. Maybe sex and pizza is his standard operating procedure. Maybe he tells every girl he’ll see her around. Maybe he’s not so different from Danny after all. And maybe that means that I’m not so different, either. I fell for it.
    Greg and Phoebe are sitting on the front-porch swing as I come through the gate. I climb the steps and Phoebe stands, giving Greg’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before she goes into the house. She offers me a grim smile, which makes me think maybe this is going to be serious.
    “Have a seat,” Greg says.
    I sit beside him on the swing.
    “Listen,” he says. “I understand that after living with your mom