Page 40 of Sterling Clay

Just as quickly, I release him and step back, colliding with the wall once more.

“Dutton.” I need to get to him. I need to get my son.

“He’s safe with Ford.” Clay remains stone still, shocked by the sudden embrace and retreat. His hands raise again, keeping his distance, like he’s talking to a caged animal. “Let’s get you some air. Some space.”

Slowly, I roll my head against the wall behind me, staring in the direction of the men’s room. Did I imagine that man? Why isn’t someone coming out of the bathroom? Is something wrong with me?

“Dutton,” I whisper again, lifting a trembling hand to my upper lip and swiping at the dampened skin.

Clay pulls his phone from his back pocket, presses a contact, and speaks. “Hey. I’m taking Mavis to my office for a second. Need to show her something. Can you keep an eye on Dutton another minute for us?”

Clay scowls at whatever reply his brother gives him, but his eyes meet mine when he says, “It’s not like that.”

We aren’t like that is what ‘that’ implies, and I’m drawn back to my initial upset, learning Clay has a girlfriend.

I press off the wall and brush a shaking hand around one bun on the top of my head. My hair suddenly feels pulled too tight, and I want to remove both twists. I glance over my shoulder one more time. Clay looks in the same direction before offering me a pinched stare and clicks off his phone.

“Let’s get you away from the crowd for a minute.” He holds out his hand. “Come with me.”

His request is more like a suggestion. He’s asking me to trust him, and I want to, I really do. As the panic inside me slowly subsides, washing down my body like a too-cold shower, I begin to shiver. However, deciding my mind has played a trick on me and I’m making a scene, I place my hand in Clay’s, finding it warm and comforting.

With his fingers curled securely around mine, he leads me to a door behind the cash wrap station, and we head up a flight of metal stairs. We don’t speak until we enter his office which has a surprising view of the entire property and the festival. Clay releases my hand and walks to a small fridge to remove a bottle of water.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, uncertain why I overreacted to either the woman in his life or the man in the hallway.

“Something tells me this isn’t about Glady.”

“It’s not my business who you—”

“We’re friends.” He stops a foot from me, pausing to open the bottle of water before holding it out to me. “Here, drink this.”

“Thank you.” My voice quivers, my hand trembles as I take the cool container from him and sip.

“What happened down there?” He tips his head toward the door.

I shrug, not nearly as nonplussed as when I’ll say, “Someone bumped into me.” I pinch my brows. “Or so I thought.” I glance in the direction of the stairwell.

“Are you hurt?” Suddenly, Clay is before me, filling my space and forcing me to focus on him. With his hands on my shoulders, he visually inspects me.

“It was nothing. Just passing too close to each other in the hall.” However, the bump felt more purposeful, intentional. And how do I explain the man speaking my name? I deflect. “But since you mentioned Glady. Why didn’t you tell me you have a girlfriend?”

“Because I don’t.” Clay drops his hands from my shoulders.

“But you omitted you have a woman in your life.”

“Because she’s just . . . a friend.”

Right? And now I know more than I need to know about their situation.

“Wesley was the king of omission,” I state, taking another sip of water from the bottle in my hand.

“Fuck.” Clay turns his head, twisting his lips. “I didn’t omit.” His head swings back to face me. “There’s nothing to admit. Glady and I are friends.” His emphasis clarifies their status. Friends with benefits.

“It’s not my business—”

“And I haven’t seen her in weeks,” he interjects, waving between us. “Since you moved in.”

“Well, we can go.” I snap, still rattled by what happened in the hallway plus discovering a woman in Clay’s life. “I never meant to stop you living your life.”