My composure started to fracture. The words pressed up against my ribs, desperate to get out.
I need you.
Instead, I swallowed and stared back at the ceiling.
“Tomorrow I’m going to make it happen.”
Her laugh was quiet. “You always say that.”
“And usually I’m right.”
She turned onto her side, facing me. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
That did it. Fear surged fast and sharp.
“Yes, I do,” I said. Too quickly. Too defensively.
Even in the dark I could see her eyes flash with whatI assumed was both frustration and annoyance. “Just because I’m here to support you as your fake wife, doesn’t mean that I’m trying to distract you, Ledger.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to,” she shot back.
The old edge slid back into place between us, familiar and dangerous. The banter that used to be armor.
“I’m trying to focus.”
“And I’m what?” she challenged. “Some focus ruiner? A risk to your career?”
I sat up, dragging a hand through my hair. “This isn’t the time.” I breathed in and out, trying to stay in control of my emotions.
She sat up too. “What?” Her irritation was tangible. “Why does there need to be a time for me to genuinely support you and try to be your friend?”
I ripped back the covers and practically jumped out of bed before my brain could catch up to what I was doing, but I couldn’t just lie there and act like my body didn’t want to move, to dosomething. I started pacing, running both hands through my hair now. I clenched my teeth trying to hold back the words, but I couldn’t do it.
“I don’t want to be your friend, Roxie.” My voice was loud, like I was yelling at her, but my frustration was too strong to tamp down.
Even in the dark I saw her flinch back.
A part of me wanted to take back my words, but another part, a bigger part, wanted her to know that I didn’t think of her like a friend at all. Or at least, notjustas a friend. If I was being honest, I wanted a lot more than friendship when it came to Roxie.
She only let my words sting for a fraction of a second before she was throwing off the covers and stomping over until she was right in front of me.
“Well, too bad,” she yelled back. “I’m your friend whether you want me to be or not.”
My lips twitched, fighting a smile. Of course, she was coming back at me, guns blazing.
“And,” she continued, pointing a finger into my bare chest, “I’m going to be the most supportive wife you’ve ever seen tomorrow, so you’re just going to have to get over your whole I-can-do-this-on-my-own power trip.”
With each word she hurled at me, the desire to kiss her became even stronger. The small amount of warmth from her finger on my chest, that skin-to-skin touch, had turned up the heat.
“And why don’t you have a shirt on?” she asked, but didn’t remove her finger.
“I never used to wear a shirt to bed.” My voice came out low, my annoyance gone. “I only started wearing a shirt since we got married. You’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome?” she asked, clearly confused.
I gave her a smirk. “Yeah, so I’m not as much of a temptation.”
