“What?”
“Nothing.” I say, tapping one of my black boots against the otheras they dangle off the bed. “You just seemed like you got hot all of a sudden.”
Blushing viciously, Kate snaps, “I’m fine.” She spins on her heel, grabs her gym bag, and she and her tiny shorts disappear into the bathroom.
I fall the rest of the way onto the bed, cursing myself for whatever that was. Flirting in close quarters with a woman I’ve tried to forget about for six years is a recipe for disaster. But will I ever get that through my thick skull?
Unlikely.
KATE
I’m hot. He’s—I mean, it’s too hot in here.
I splash a cold handful of water onto my face and bravely reach for a face towel. It’s musty, but not mildewy, so I’ll take it.
I try to scrub the makeup from my face without smearing my mascara into raccoon puddles, then wash my hands. I finish brushing my teeth with my spare toothbrush and meet my dark eyes in the mirror.
“You’ve got this,” I say firmly. “This is nothing. It’s one night. I mean, we can be friends, right?” I snort, but I refuse to admit just how shaken up I am over seeing Brandon on a bed again. “We’re coworkers. Nothing more.”
A rap on the door, then a muffled, “Are you talking to yourself?”
I stupidly scramble for my phone and press it to my ear. “I’m talking to Liza,” I call. And to really sell the charade, I crane my neck toward the grainy wood of the locked door and say, “Uh… bye Liza.”
My phone vibrates to life with a text against my cheek, and I jump about a foot off the ground. The phone flies from my shaking hands and clatters onto the gross floor.
Another knock. “Are you okay?”
“Just peachy.” My words come out like a warbled singsong, and I flatten a palm to my mouth.
It isimperativethat I calm down.
UNKNOWN: Just reminding you of how incredible you are. - Hopefully Yours.
A fresh wave of irritation spikes my already dangerous blood pressure level.
I’m at a loss for what to do. What Icando. Short of changing my number—which isn’t even an option with how many correspondents I’m still waiting to hear from for Amantha’s exhibition—I have no plans. Besides, that would only prevent them fromcontactingme, not following me.
I’ve thought countless times about reaching out to the police, but with what evidence? Surely a slew of random numbers won’t be much to go on.
I curse the helpless stinging in my tear ducts and shove my phone in my pocket. I stalk out the bathroom door and into the room.
“What’s wrong?” Brandon has changed positions, propping up his torso withallthe pillows. I roll my eyes.
“Nothing.” I hold strong beneath the weight of his scrutiny. But before long, his assessment of me begins to feel…different.
But unlike creepy Tom, I don’t instinctively shy away from Brandon’s gaze. It flushes me with reassuring warmth, and I feel…safe.
Nothing bad can happen to me with Brandon here.
“Okay, then.” Brandon’s voice still holds an edge of curiosity, but he drops it.
He slides off the bed, toeing off his black boots. His head swivels as he takes in the tiny room. The armchair in the corner is such a nefarious shade of brown, I suspect the upholstery might have been white at some point.
“How’s this gonna work?” He motions to the bed, and for the first time tonight, uncertainty crosses his features.
I shrug, forcing my left knee to stay put. “I’d say I’d sleep on the floor, but we both know I’m not that nice.”
Brandon coughs a small laugh.
