It all feels too formal.
I sit far away from him, curling my legs up beneath me.
I haven’t even showered, Jesus.
Maybe it’s best if I do stay far away from him.
Crane settles on the sofa, his large bulk making it look smaller than it is.
“So, Miami?” Crane arches a brow at me as I gulp more wine.
“Yeah. I mean, I was thinking of a spa, drinks, and a great party scene…”
Crane nods, stroking his jaw.
“We could have a joint party. Invite everyone.”
“Everyone?” I echo.
Crane grins at me.
“What are you worried about?”
The thought of being away with you.
“Nothing,” I say hotly. “In the same hotel?”
My voice sounds like it’s cracking, and Crane picks up on it, tilting his head to the side.
“Well, I thought we could get discounted rates if we did.”
“True. Is, uh, Samara coming?”
Say yes.
I can’t bear to be around single Crane when I’m practically hitched.
His eyes meet mine, and he lets out a low chuckle.
“Why?”
It’s like he’s staring into my soul, and I can’t stand it.
“I just thought she might want to be there with you.”
Glug, glug.
Wine is helping.
Crane shakes his head, his eyes moving away from mine.
I miss their heat on me.
“No, she’s someone I was going to—never mind. No, she won’t be there if we’re doing a joint gig.”
My heart drops at his words.
Who is Samara?
