“Fine. Why?”
“I can’t care about how you are?”
I took a bite of sushi before answering. I was too hungry for small talk. Glancing around for Carter, I found him in a corner with Fabian, who was taking notes in a spiral book.
“You heard about last night, I guess.”
“Yeah. So. You all right?”
“I’m good. Carter was . . . Having him there was perfect. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I gotta apologize for something.” She cleared her throat, and I ate another piece of California roll. I didn’t want to react to the apology before she made it. “I’ve been a bitch about Vindouche. All yelling and up in your face.”
“You’re a bossypants. I knew that coming in.”
“It’s because I love you.”
“I know.”
“We’re the sisters we never had.”
“It’s okay. Really. The act’s coming along great, don’t you think? ‘More Than a Sister’ is really tight, and that’s the one they want to hear. I’m going to work on punching up the bridge in ‘Make Him Yours’ this afternoon. But I feel good.”
She nodded, flicking the cashews in her salad to the side. She was still a ball of energy and intensity, but she was more still than usual. As sure as a stress fracture, she had something on her mind.
“Spill it,” I said.
She wiped her mouth at the corners with slow deliberation. Timing perfect. Pure drama. I knew her so well, I knew when she wanted to land a statement.
“How’s he kiss?”
I released the tension in a shock of a laugh. The room silenced for a second. I snapped my eyes to Carter, and he met my gaze quickly before turning back to Fabian. I wasn’t much of a blusher, but I was sure I was another shade of pink.
When the ambient noise picked up again, I leaned into Darlene so no one else could hear.
“How did you know?”
Her big brown eyes got bigger, and her mouth stretched in a conspiratorial grin.
“Tell me first.”
“Pretty great.” I sipped my soup. Was that the only adjective I had? It was lame. “We haven’t done that much kissing, but it’s like when you’re doing a really tough lift and know your partner’s not going to drop you, but at the same time, you feel like you’re flying without being held.”
“Girl, as your friend, that’s music to my ears.”
“And I think he can handle Vince. Like, I don’t have to be alone while I deal with this. And maybe he’ll get scared away now.”
Darlene pushed away her tray. “Maybe.”
“What? You have that look like you’re about to storm on me.”
“Nah. Just thinking you got attacked last night. Physically attacked.”
“He attacked my dress.”
“Don’t minimize. You know what he did, then you fall into sucking face with your bodyguard.”
“God, Darlene.” It was my turn to push away my tray. “That’s such a bait and switch.”
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me it wasn’t a reaction to feeling safe.”
“Of course it was. So? Why invalidate it? Why not just call it by its name and enjoy it?”
“I’m not saying not to. I’m sorry. There’s too much stuff. Listen.” She folded my hands in hers and leaned into me. “He can’t watch you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fabian’s on you now.”
“What? Why? You’re a singer, not a security expert.”
“He requested it.”
Her expression wasn’t confrontational. Actually, she looked as if she hated saying it. I stood so quickly, my chair nearly fell.
“I got this.”
“You go.”
I stomped to Carter and Fabian, who was putting his little notepad in his pocket.
“What the fuck?” I said to Carter with my arms crossed.
“That’s my cue,” Fabian said. “See you at six.” He nodded at me and walked away. There was nothing wrong with him. He was a fine bodyguard and a decent human being, but he wasn’t Carter, who had the nerve to smile up at me as if I were amusing the hell out of him.
“I would have told you, but Darlene insisted.”
I pulled the chair out to sit so the table could keep me from strangling him.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, standing. “You have to go feed your cat.”
“No, I don’t. It’s a stray. It’ll be fine.”
“Have you named her yet?” He piled up the empty food containers.
“Shouldn’t Fabian be taking me?” I practically snarled it.
“We couldn’t revise the schedule before tonight. I’ll take you.”
He dropped the garbage and waited for me to follow him to his Audi.
“I have to be back by one,” I said.
“No problem.”
I felt as if I’d been dumped for no good reason. I shouldn’t have taken it personally. He was trying to do his job, and I was in the way. But to reject me outright, to deny me of his company, hurt to the core. So I stormed and seethed, even when he opened the front passenger door instead of the back. I threw myself onto the leather seats as if that would somehow teach him a lesson about how to treat a girl.
He didn’t say anything until we were out of the lot and on the street.
“You’re scary when you’re mad,” he said. He didn’t look scared at all. He looked charmed, if anything, which made me angrier. I felt like crap. Useless. Dispensable. And here he was with half a smirk looking in his rearview and driving the speed limit because he had no emotions at all.
“I’m mad at myself.”
“Why?” He flattened his hand, steering with the heel. The bandage had shifted over the course of the morning, revealing a scab on the top of his knuckles.
“For believing what you said this morning.”
“About?”
About how much he liked kissing me. How the taste of my lips made him wild and impulsive.
“About burning your hand on a frying pan.”
That wasn’t the answer he expected. He didn’t look away from the road but tilted his head as if recalibrating. There had never been a hot pan. I didn’t know why it mattered, but it did.
“Unless you grab a handle with your knuckles,” I said. “But even I’m not that double-jointed.”
He stopped at a red light with a jerk. “You’re double-jointed?”
I reached over and flicked his bandage with my nail. I did it harder than I expected, and he flinched.
“You know what?” I said. “I’m glad you dropped me. You’re a liar.”
“Wait a second.” When he held up his index finger, the others didn’t fold all the way down into a fist. I’d seen a lot of sore and bruised muscles in my life. If his hand wasn’t recovering from a recent trauma, I’d eat a roll of toe tape.
“Just say you didn’t burn your breakfast this morning and I’ll stop calling you a liar.”
“I was—”
“Liar.”
“This isn’t—”
“Liar.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Are you lying?”
I was almost smiling at that point but not quite. He hadn’t earned a full smile, and he knew it, because he stopped talking. Ten minutes went by without denial or reprisal. Neither of us said a word until he parked the car in front of my house.
“Last night,” he said after a deep breath, “I found Vince—”
“Wait. You found him? Like you tripped on him, or you were looking for him?”
“Does it matter?”