“If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies room.”
I exit the ballroom of the country club and make my way down the hallway. Needing a better escape from Mr. Forward than the bathroom, I push through the first set of unlocked doors and find myself in an open courtyard of sorts. There are concrete benches and trellises where vines have crawled up the stone walls and onto the wooden lattice. Fairy lights twinkle around me, and it’s everything I need right now to give me a breather.
I tense when I hear footsteps and then sag in relief when I see Zane. Our eyes meet across the dimly lit space and I register the tension sewn into the lines of his face.
“You going to flirt your way through the whole room, Harlow? I think you may have missed a few.”
“Excuse me?” The relief I’d felt moments ago gives way to confused anger.
“You’re supposed to be with me, remember? Not that asshole Miles Finlay.”
“Miles Finlay?”
“The prick you were more than chatty with.”
Mr. Forward?
“It’s none of your business who I’m chatting with—”
“Like hell it isn’t—”
“And I’m well aware of what I’m supposed to be doing.” I move to abate my sudden restlessness. “And from where I was standing, you seemed to be doing a pretty damn good job of working the room—ahem, women—yourself. You know, the tight bodied, short-dressed women who I’m sure would be more than happy to screw your ‘girlfriend’ over if you’d have invited them back to your place. Too bad your place is our place and it’s a skank free zone.” My hands are on my hips, and my eyebrows are arched in challenge.
“Like that would stop me.”
I’m not sure why his comment catches me off guard with mental whiplash, but it does. I can’t figure the man out and I need to stop trying to for my own sake.
“You know what? This doesn’t work for me.”
“What doesn’t?” he asks and dismisses it with a laugh.
“Your Jekyll and Hyde crap. The whole be nice in public and then be a jerk in private. It’s total bullshit on your part so decide who you’re going to be so I can figure out how to deal with you.”
The slow smirk that curls up one corner of his lips says he’s enjoying this and fuck if I don’t hate a man who plays games. I’ve been with enough of them to know they leave your heart broken, your pride wounded, and you constantly questioning yourself. “Who would you prefer me to be?”
He takes a step toward me.
“Yourself. Whoever that is.”
Another step.
I won’t move. I won’t be intimidated. I won’t back down to him.
“Be careful what you wish for, Harlow.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
We stand in the garden with the night all around us, our minds trying to figure each other out, and our bodies inches apart.
“Nothing.” He murmurs a chuckle and angles his head to the side as he stares at me. The green of his eyes says things I can’t read and am not sure I want to just yet. “Just make sure you don’t confuse our act with reality is all.”
“Our act?”
“That we’re a couple.”
“I’m not.”
“I can already see it on your face.”
“See what?”
“And your body.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
His tongue darts out to lick his lips and he falls silent a moment before he speaks. “Women fall in love with words, Harlow. Men fall in love with bodies.”
“Would you mind cluing me in on what the ever loving hell you are talking about because I’m confused and you’re overstepping.”
He shakes his head subtly, like you would with a child who isn’t understanding what you’re explaining. “The look on your face tonight during our presentation. The one that said you wonder what this could be like between us if it were real. Don’t mistake our act for reality.”
His words slap me awake in a way I’d never admit because he’s right. I was thinking that tonight. As he spoke sweet words about me and comments about relationships and finding someone new that I knew someone else scripted for him, I still wondered.
For a man who says he doesn’t pay attention, he sure as hell noticed that one slip of my cover.
I won’t let it happen again.
“Just like you, I can play this part perfectly,” I say.
“Uh-huh. You may be able to fool them, but not me.”
“Don’t think so highly of yourself.” I step back, needing space, hating that he can see through me so clearly.
“Why not?”
“You know what? Cut the crap, Zane. You want to be big man on campus, then be him. You want to be the big wig who owns the company. Good for fucking you, but I hate both of them. Can’t you just be the guy who stood in the tour bus this morning and offered me a mulligan? The one who gave me an apology for being an asshole because he was a big enough man to realize he’d been a jerk and wanted to fix it. Why can’t you be that guy all the time?” I run out of breath and I hate that it makes it harder to draw in the next one when he shifts on his feet so that his chest brushes ever so slightly against mine.