Suddenly flustered and feeling like the whole room is staring at me as I stumble over thoughts that have no place in my head, I clear my throat and collect myself. “Let’s open this up for questions, Romeo, before you overpromise and under deliver.”
The general questions come in one by one: vetting of applicants, background checks, safety checks, further explanation on what exactly our AI technology does, guarantees. I expect the mingling to begin shortly thereafter. Typically it begins with the men asking candid questions to Zane, the women to me. Then somewhere along the line, the demographic switches—typically once the alcohol has sunken in so I’m surrounded by men and Zane by women.
But something is different about tonight. Zane doesn’t leave my side. His hand remains somewhere on my body at all times. Touching. Claiming. Letting everyone know that I’m his.
It’s as cute as it is annoying, and I can’t help but wonder if the whole Miles Finlay situation made him think twice about letting the testosterone-filled and alcohol-laced ranks corner me on one side of the room alone.
You look gorgeous tonight.
But it’s that comment right there—the one that threw me off my stride and still has me thinking about it that makes me wonder if something else is going on here.
He laughs with the woman to our right. She’s buxom and blonde and genuinely nice. Right or wrong, I hate her instantly.
It takes me a second to register that it’s jealously. Desire for Zane to stop paying her any attention even when his attention is completely benign in the first place.
Wait a minute. Is this what Zane felt like the other night when he saw me with Miles Finlay? Is this his subtle way of showing me what it’s like and rubbing my face in it?
I look over at him and he glances my way with a soft smile before looking back toward the blonde.
Jesus, Low, get a grip. You’re losing your mind here. This is not who you are. You do not care if he finds her attractive so long as she doesn’t end up in your shared bed.
But I do care.
Even when I don’t want to.
You look gorgeous tonight.
Those words replay in my head, and tell me clear as day that he was right the other night. I’m starting to believe those little touches of his mean something. I’m beginning to overthink his intentions with each and every one. I’m starting to fall in love with words when I have no business doing so.
It’s only been a week and I need a bit of space from him. That’s my only thought as I gather a few things—clothes, toothbrush, face wash—from the tour bus and throw them in a bag. Tonight’s one of the few repeat nights we have in a city and so I’m going to take advantage of the opportunity and get a room in the hotel where we’re parked.
I open the door to the coach and am just about to head out when I come face to face with Zane. He eyes the oversized bag in my hands and then looks back to me with confusion etched in his handsome face.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m not feeling well,” I lie. “I got a room at the hotel so that I don’t get you sick.”
Zane twists his lips and the question in his eyes is unrelenting. “You’re sick?”
“Yes. Sore throat. Slight fever. Headache.” Stop talking or he’s not going to believe you.
“Uh-huh.” He nods his head but his noncommittal tone tells me he doesn’t believe me. He stands at the foot of the steps so that I can’t leave.
“Do you mind?”
“Who’s the guy?”
“What?” It’s the last thing on my mind and the first thing on his so it throws me when he asks it.
“You’re leaving a perfectly good bed in the tour bus for one in a hotel so I can only assume you’ve found someone for the night.”
I swear I must blink a hundred times as I try to process what he’s saying. A very small and childish part of me wants to agree with him and tell him that yes, I am meeting someone else. Something, anything to release this sudden tension between us that is a constant any time we’re near each other.
But all I can think is that if I tell him yes, then doesn’t that open the door for him to do the same? The churning in my stomach at the thought has me shutting my mouth.
And reconfirms that I really do need a little bit of space to clear my head.
“Sorry to let you down, Zane, but there is no one else.” I swallow over the lump in my throat. “I’m not feeling well and we’ve been in each other’s business for the past six days . . . I thought maybe we could each use a bit of space since it’s one of the only opportunities we’ll have. I don’t know, just so we don’t get on each other’s nerves or something.”
The green of his eyes burn through the dimly lit night and I can see the fight in them to decide whether he believes me or not.
That in itself should piss me off. The fact that I want him to believe me when in reality it’s really none of his business what I’m doing with my personal time.
And yet I want him to believe me.
I don’t want him to think I’m with someone else.
“Let me walk you to the hotel,” he says softly as he steps back so I can disembark from the bus.
“I’m fine. You don’t have to. I’m sure you’re tired.”
Why am I suddenly so nervous?