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“Don’t be sad.” Liam’s voice was kinder than I deserved, the way I was running out on him. “It’s always a little hard ending a project, the lull before another, but think about what I said. I’d be happy to find a place for you.”
A place for me. I wasn’t even sure what that looked like anymore. What did I truly want and what could I have, and how big was the gap between those two things? The questions plagued me all afternoon, one stupid task after another, everything taking twice as long as it should until my bad mood was truly foul. Heading back to the motel, at last, I almost ran over Tiffany on the sidewalk.
“Hey, Avery!” Smiling widely, she looked cute in matching workout clothes, like she was coming back from a run. “Did you hear about the latest ghost sighting?”
“Another?” I was getting so tired of hearing about the ghost, who mainly seemed to haunt the oldest buildings and the most gullible of the cast and crew, who saw terror in every rogue shadow. After all the real dangers of a deployment, I had little patience for ghost stories, but I tried not to sound too nasty.
“This one was super scary.” She gestured with perfectly manicured nails. “Flickering lights, crackly noises, whistling sound. And then, it just stopped. Maybe the ghost is mad we’re almost done with filming?”
“Maybe.”
“And I’ve only got a handful of costumes left to fit into, so I can think about resuming regular meals.” She gave me a cheeky smile, a message of some kind in her sparkling eyes. In another life, I’d want to decode her signals, claw my way out of the friend zone, and chase after her the whole damn production. She was nice, gorgeous, and everything I was supposed to want. But didn’t.
“Awesome. You should eat more for sure.” My tone was way more brotherly than flirty, like I was lecturing Megan about taking care of herself. And predictably, Tiffany rolled her eyes.
“Guys with ridiculous metabolisms don’t get an opinion.” She duffed me on the shoulder, right above my prosthesis, and I had to hide a wince. “You want to grab dinner? I can live vicariously through your carbs.”
“Thanks, but…” I trailed off because I was running out of excuses.
“You have plans.” Her smile took on a softer edge. “With Malik?”
“I…uh…” The urge to tell someone, anyone, about Malik rose, a need I hadn’t been aware of before my conversation with Liam, but now it was all I could think about. I just wanted someone to know. But, of course, I couldn’t. “Yeah. Security business.”
“Of course.” She gave a little nod. “See you at the party?”
“Sure.” That damn party. I didn’t want to think about the party, about the end of filming, about Malik, about my tangled-up mass of feelings. Didn’t want to think about a fucking thing, and for the first time in weeks, I hoped Malik wasn’t back yet. I wasn’t fit for company.
But it continued to not be my lucky day, and his shoes were neatly by the door. He was sprawled on the made bed, the news on, a bag of sandwiches next to the TV. “I picked up dinner.”
“Thanks.” I removed my boots with thick fingers and ignored the food to stumble to the bed, pulling up short at a small bag sitting on my pillow. Something from Delectable. “What’s this?”
Malik smiled so warmly that his eyes crinkled. “A little something for after dinner. If you’re game…”
“Maybe.” I held the bag like it might be an IED and me with no ordinance experience.
“What’s wrong?” Frowning, Malik patted the bed next to him.
“Nothing.” Unable to summon even a partial smile, I sat on the edge of the bed. “Tough day. It’s okay.”
“Hey, we don’t have to fool around.” Sitting up, he scooted behind me and started a gentle shoulder rub. “I owe you the underwear anyway.”
“You shouldn’t be buying me presents.” I peeked into the bag, which contained the silkiest, frothiest pair of pink panties I’d ever seen. The shade was utterly perfect, a muted bubblegum, the pink of princesses, not meant for fumbling fools like me. My throat was tight and scratchy, and my eyes burned for no reason.
“Because?” Malik dug his fingers into my shoulder blades, ideal pressure. He’d memorized the Avery manual, that was for sure. “I like doing things for you.”
“I know.” Fuck. My lower lip wobbled, my whole face burning, not only my eyes. “I don’t deserve it.”
“How do you figure that?” Pausing his massage, he tilted my head back so I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Feel like an idiot so much of the time.”
“You’re not. And what have I said about talking badly about yourself?”
“That you’d spank me if I kept it up.” Yes. That. Suddenly, I knew exactly what I wanted, what might help, and most importantly, what might get me to fucking stop thinking.
