Free Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1) by Ani Keating Page B

would be funny.
    “Okay. I’ll see you then.”
    Suddenly, I realize I’m out of things to say and he is about to leave. I’m not sure what we accomplished here today, but I have the feeling that we just got a little closer. And despite all my wishes to stop time, tomorrow can’t come fast enough.
    “Well, now that that’s all sorted out, you, inside with me.” Reagan has had it. “Your Cornish clotted cream is waiting and Colin Firth is not getting any younger.”
    Hale watches her with a raised eyebrow. She grips my hand and hauls me away.
    “Good night, Mr. Hale.” I smile at him over my shoulder, wondering why Colin Firth no longer looks handsome to me.
    “Oh, Elisa?” he calls as we reach the steps.
    I turn, too eager, and my breath catches in my throat. His otherworldly face—now free of anger or tension or accusations—has gentled with a glow from his eyes.
    “Yes?” I breathe. Or maybe I sigh.
    “Next time, please don’t write down your address on materials you give to strangers. It’s not very safe.”
    He wants me safe, like he said yesterday . My heart picks up a frantic rhythm. As though he can hear it, his lips lift into my favorite dimpled smile. I barely nod; I’m staring at his face, trying to commit every pore to memory.

Chapter Fourteen
    Valedictorian
    After watching the full BBC series of Pride and Prejudice , I finally go to bed. Even though I should be exhausted, I’m so wired thinking of tomorrow that I start on the periodic table, this time in Spanish. Reagan grilled me through dinner and it took one hour to calm Javier down over the phone. Apparently, Benson will pick him up at the gallery two hours after Hale picks me up here. I wonder why he staggered our appointments, and my stomach does backflips.
    For the first time, I experiment with whispering his name out loud. Aiden. Aiden. Aiden . It’s getting easier to say it. Easier to let him in. When I finally fall sleep, his name echoes in my head.
    I wake up at the sound of Reagan pounding on my door.
    “Isa, wake up, you’ll miss graduation if you don’t start getting ready.”
    Oh, bollocks! I didn’t break this news to her last night because she was freaking out about Hale and Colin Firth. I crawl out of bed and open my door.
    “Morning, Reg.”
    “Come on sleepy head, I’ll do your hair. Your big speech!” She claps her hands.
    Okay, here goes nothing. “Reg, I’m not giving a speech. Actually, I—umm—I’m not going.”
    She gawks at me like I’m speaking pig Latin. “What the fuck?”
    I don’t expect her to understand, or anyone else for that matter. But there’s no way I’m wasting four hours of my numbered days to hear about what a great beginning this is. ICE’s formal countdown starts today, even if mine started a week ago. I’d much rather spend the next four hours getting ready for my painting, practicing the name Aiden , shaving my legs and doing other wonderful things. Not to mention that walking at graduation without my parents there makes my stomach twist worse than any hangover. I give Reagan an edited version of this. It takes a good fifteen minutes to convince her. Finally, she relents.
    “Fine. I guess I get it. Frankly, I’d be upset too. So, do you want me accept on your behalf?”
    “I don’t think they’ll let you. It’s not the Oscars, Reg.”
    She gives me a puppy-eyes look and skips to her room to get ready while I eat some cereal in the kitchen.
    The moment I’m alone, my nerves start making an unwelcome but assertive appearance. I’m about to face Aiden Hale with nothing but knickers and an undone shirt. Bloody hell, what if he picks a thong? What if the room is cold and I get all…nippy? Javier will be there too. He will see all that as well. Why on earth did I agree to this with so little information? Oh, right, because my brain was mush at the time and because I never thought it would actually happen. Now that it’s only five hours away, my hands start shaking and I