Page 69 of The Incredible Ordinary

“Absolutely. It was as close to the ground as the roof of a fifteen-story building can be.”

“That has to be the winner.”

“It’s definitely up there.”

“There’s something you consider worse?”

“Not worse, per se. Some things are just difficult to compare. What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?”

I press my lips together as I try to figure out if I have anything even remotely comparable to bring to the table.

“I went out on my twenty-second birthday, got spectacularly drunk for the first time in my life, tried to dance on the bar, fell down immediately, and ended up spending the rest of the night at the ER, waiting for a doctor to deal with my dislocated elbow.”

He looks at me, lips twitching.

“You can laugh.” I roll my eyes.

He does. The smooth, low sound rolls through me. I’ve always been embarrassed about this story, but I don’t regret it all anymore because it made Milán laugh. Instead, there’s a sudden urge inside me to fall off more bars.

“I have a tattoo on my thigh,” he says. “It says ‘YOLO’ in a fancy font.”

I snort. “That one’s embarrassing.”

“You’d think, but it gets worse. The real embarrassing part is that I got it done in twenty seventeen, so it not only competes for the most embarrassing tattoo, it also has the dubious honor of being a tattoo that was outdated five yearsbeforeI had it done.”

I laugh. It bubbles out of me. I laugh so hard at the sheepish expression on his face that there are tears in my eyes, and every time I try to stop, I meet his gaze, and I go off again.

When I finally manage to stop, he’s still smiling, eyes shining with laughter. I’m smiling, too. We look at each other, and neither of us says anything. Warmth spreads from the center of my chest through the rest of my body, through my limbs, to my fingers and toes.

He keeps looking at me, and the subtle warmth gets hotter. My fingertips tingle. My mouth is strangely dry, and I don’t really understand why I feel so… unsettled. My whole body feels like it’s been dunked into something foreign and unusual, and I’m not sure I like it, even though my brain is telling me I love being here.

“It’s getting late.” My voice is just a bit off.

He hums, and a devilish spark lights up his eyes as he arches his brow. “Do you have a curfew?”

I can’t not laugh again. “What if I do?”

He gives me a sly, wicked grin that promises trouble, even if I’m twenty-eight years old, and there’s not much here that could get me in trouble. The adrenaline is there, though. Mylife is simple enough that it doesn’t take much, apparently, and none of this is real anyway. There are no stakes. But a bolt of energy rushes through my veins, sharp and electric, and lighting everything in its wake on fire.

Excitement and caution collide in my stomach and swirl around in there until it’s impossible to tell them apart.

“You seem very proper,” he says. “Like you never get in trouble.”

“Do I?”

He nods. “Which is unfortunate. Because I usually really like getting people in trouble.”

I’m really not sure what we’re doing here or what this conversation even is. I’m starting to feel really out of my depth. “Oh yeah?”

Our gazes lock and hold, and slowly, bit by tiny bit, the teasing smile melts off Milán’s face until it’s replaced by some kind of intense look I understand even less.

It only lasts a moment before he blinks, and then he’s suddenly grinning again. He looks down, shakes his head, looks up again. Still smiling. There’s caution to the smile now, though. Almost like he’s caught himself doing something he shouldn’t.

“I’ve decided to behave,” he announces cheerfully, the switch in tone so sudden I get whiplash.

A startled chuckle escapes, my mouth opening and closing. “Well I, for one, am relieved,” I say jokingly. “Thank you for resisting the temptation of leading me astray. You’re a good man.”

I say it like it’s a joke, but I mean it. Sometimes it’s just easier to pretend to be flippant than admit you mean what you say.