Eventually, I lift my head and peer up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He gazes down at me, his expression steadfast. He’s not freaking out and that reassures me.
“I bet you’re sorry you brought me here,” I try to joke. “You’re probably sorry you ever heard of me.”
“Now that you mention it, you are kind of a handful.”
I snort laugh. “God. Am I ever.” I swipe a hand over wet eyes. “I was so tired, I wanted to lie down for a while.” I pause. “When did you get home?”
“About an hour ago. I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“Oh. Yikes. I must have slept for a while. Okay, I do need some water.”
He releases me and stands.
“But I can get it,” I assure him.
He shakes his head and sighs, then hikes out of the room, returning with a bottle of water. “This one wasn’t in the fridge.”
Oh. That’s sweet of him. I take the water and gulp half of it down, then swing my legs over the side of the bed. I look at my suitcase. “I didn’t unpack. I was going to ask you to take me home. It’s silly that I’m here.”
“Yeah, so silly.” His tone is bone dry. “It would have been much better if that happened when you were alone.”
He’s right. I know it. And I’m glad he was here. “But I can’t have someone with me all the time. You have a demanding job. A busy life.”
“Yeah.” His eyebrows lower. “Do you want to call your parents? Maybe you should go stay with them.”
That idea appeals to me as much as filing my nails with a cheese grater. “I can’t.”
“Do you have someone else you could stay with?”
My manager and my agent went back to L.A. I think dejectedly of my small friends list. The only “friend” I have in New York is my best friend from high school, Joey Kemper. But we had a falling out years ago when she accused me of “ditching” her because I’d gotten “too good for her.”
That wasn’t why our friendship had died off. I certainly didn’t think I was too good for her. I was just super busy and working hard, and it was difficult to find time in the brief periods I was in New York. Apparently this is the story of my life.
I sigh without looking up at Marek. “No, not really.”
“Then you’re staying here. Even if I’m not around all the time.”
“Fine.” I’m too tired to argue. And the truth is, Marek makes me feel safe. I remember that night at the hotel in Vegas when he placed himself between me and others waiting for the elevator, blocking their view of me. I remember how he let me leave that first night without being a dick about it, like some guys would have. And I remember the care he took with me the next night, when I was unsure, and he was willing to just talk.
I wouldn’t have come with him to his place if I didn’t feel safe with him, no matter how frightened I was at my own home.
“There’s space for your clothes in the closet and that dresser.” He points. “You found the bathroom?”
“Yes. Which I need to use.” I stand on legs that feel disturbingly jellied.
“Okay. Sorry I had to bolt right after we got here.”
“Did you make it on time?”
“Yeah.” One corner of his mouth lifts. He follows me out of the bedroom. “Barely.”
“That was my fault. Should I write a note for your coach?”
He barks out a laugh. “You still have a sense of humor.”
“Sometimes my humor is kind of black.” I make a face.
