“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m your mother and I know these things.”
“I don’t like him,” I say, maybe only to convince myself. “I mean, it’s only been six days. That’s not a lot of time to know if I like someone or not.”
“So you’re not sure if you do, then?”
I sigh. “We work well together. People believe the story we’re selling.”
“I haven’t told a soul otherwise,” she says unprompted and immediately has me worried she’s told the truth to one of the members of her salsa dancing group. I let the silence fall on the line as a subtle warning to her. “I promise, mija. I wouldn’t want to mess this up for you.”
“’Kay.”
“Then what is it that’s bugging you?”
“I don’t know,” I muse as I stand up and peer out the windows at the world beyond. Lush trees surround me, branches swaying in the breeze while clouds above are slowing shifting across the sky. “I can’t get a read on him. I don’t know what he actually feels about me…or what I feel about him..”
“And when he kisses you . . .”
“What do you mean when he kisses me? How do you know that he does?” I ask, my mind immediately pulled back to the other night in Austin and the garden and the kiss that’s never too far from my mind.
“There have been pictures posted online. Seems he’s affectionate during the presentations. Always kissing your temple or touching your back . . . so I wondered how it makes you feel.”
“It doesn’t really matter how it makes me feel, to be honest. I’m just thrown off because we’re spending so much time together. I’m here to do my job and anything with him other than what I’m supposed to be doing isn’t worth thinking about.”
“Mija, you just talked a whole bunch of circles to try and throw me off track. You like him. I’m your mother. I can’t be fooled.”
And she’s right. I do. In a maddening, sexually frustrating, I wonder what-he’s-like-in-bed kind of way.
“Mom,” I warn, not wanting her to go here.
“What’s not to like about him then?”
My laugh rings out and is laced with sarcasm. “Maybe because he’s like David and Linc before him and then Rhett before him and I can’t do that to myself again. At some point I have to learn that I won’t take second to a man’s ego.”
“Low . . . all men are like that in one form or another. Their ego is part of the reason we’re attracted to them. Confidence is sexy. Being secure in your place in the world is something that we like to know our partner is. It’s not a bad thing to find that attractive. We like a man with a side of ego. That’s alluring. What we don’t like is an ego with a side of man.”
“You can stop making sense now.”
“You’re two young, single people. Of course you’re going to be attracted to each other. That’s only natural. Explore it. Don’t explore it. But whatever you do, know it’s perfectly possible to get lost in a man without losing yourself in the process.”
“Mom. Geez. I’m not looking for a relationship.” I say the words but the romantic she’s instilled in me hidden way down deep wonders what Zane Phillips is like in that sense. He says love is a bullshit emotion . . . the question is, does he believe it?
“Then just look for some fun.”
“I’m not going to sleep with him, Mom.”
Her laugh is rich when it fills the line. “Okay then. You just keep telling yourself that . . . ”
“I will,” I say defensively.
“And live in the now.”
“Thank you so much—” Albuquerque? Austin? Houston . . . the cities spin together and mixed with the hot lights of the stage, it takes me a second to finish. “Houston,” I say.
Zane chuckles from the other side of the stage. “Houston, we have a problem.” The audience laughs at his play on my obvious gaffe.
“I never knew how musicians could mess up where they were but now I get it. We’ve been going at this nonstop for a week now—”
“Let’s not give out all our bedroom secrets, now.”
“Oh please.” I roll my eyes and earn the laugh.
“Stamina, babe.” He winks as he makes his way toward me.
“Let’s not advertise falsely now,” I say, startled when he walks up behind me and puts his hands on my hips. “SoulM8 will help you find a connection, not give you stamina.”
“I can see that as a new slogan now.”
Another laugh from the audience.
Another press of his kiss to my temple.
“You look gorgeous tonight,” he murmurs under his breath, the heat of it hitting my ear.
Another flutter in my belly I don’t want by the simple but scripted show of affection.
But was that scripted? Was that a moment he wanted the audience to overhear on the microphone so the women could collectively swoon or was that sincere and meant only for me so that I silently swooned?