I played a tough game, but the truth was I was so damn ready and willing to give in, it waspathetic.
Which was why I had to walkaway.
Thank God he didn’t follow. But even though Zane didn’t get me into bed last night, it felt like he’d had the upper hand. Like he was incontrol.
And I couldn’t afford to let Zane havecontrol.
No more letting him buy me shooters,then.
No more sitting anywhere near him in abar.
No more ordering his favorite drink forhim.
No more acting like I was his wife, when Iwasn’t.
* * *
When we wereabout a half-hour from Portland, Zane textedme.
Zane:I’m glad you’re on thetour
I hesitated to respond. I considered not responding atall.
I was still kinda mad about lastnight.
And I wasscared.
I was sad, frustrated, irritated, and every emotion in-between.
I was tired, and this tour was barely twenty-four hoursold.
But… it was a nice thing for him to say. And it didn’t come with a heated come-on.
Me:I’m always on thetour.
He respondedimmediately.
Zane:you should ride on mybus
For Christ’s sake. He wasn’t gonna let this go, washe?
No. Of course hewasn’t.
This wasZane.
As soon as he had me on the line… let the chasecommence.
Me:I have my ownbus.
Zane:we could be fucking rightnow
And there itwas.
Not a question. Not an invitation. Just a statement of plainfact.
Because if I was riding on Zane’s bus right now, we would most definitely be fucking, and apparently he knew it as well as Idid.
Zane:you telling me whatever you’re doing on your lady bus is better thanthat?
