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His voice was low and hard, and it cut through her half-finished statement.It was as if he froze her breath in her lungs with nothing more than voice.More specificallyhisvoice sayinghername inthattone.
“You will not lie to me.That’s non-negotiable.”He stared at her, and Nomi wanted to keep protesting.To explain.To point out that “no lying” was juvenilely simplistic.
The words wouldn’t come, and after a long moment he rose, turning towards the bar.
Nomi closed her eyes and slumped back in her seat.
Part of her wanted to get up and sneak out while he was at the bar.Just do what she’d planned to do yesterday and leave Las Palmas.But if she did that now, it wouldn’t be panic-born self-protection.
It would be cowardice.
That internal truth made her grimace, and Nomi forced herself to sit up and open her eyes.Tareq was standing behind the bar while reading something on his phone.He started setting out ingredients—sparkling wine, a lemon, an unlabeled bottle of something clear, a blue bottle of gin.
The makings of a French 75.
She watched, caught between feelings she refused to name, as he prepared her drink.He was careful, focused, and cleaned up as he went.To contrast that, when he poured his own drink, he carelessly splashed red wine into a glass and jammed the cork in with his thumb.
She watched him bring their drinks, her whole body tight with anticipation.
“French 75.”He set the glass down in front of her.
“Thank you.”
Tareq grabbed his own chair and shifted it so he was sitting beside rather than across from her.Nomi fingered the stem of her flute as he took his seat.
They clinked glasses, and Nomi took a sip.
“How is it?”he asked.“Be honest.I expect the truth from you.”
“It’s good.Maybe a little too sweet.”
“It was a dud lemon,” he said grimly.“Not enough juice.”
“I really do like it, and the fact that you made me one is…”
“Too much?Given that we’re just—” He smiled as he raised his glass.“Lab partners.”
Nomi chuckled and shook her head.“No.I was trying to find a way of phrasing what I wanted to say that made sense.You’ve been taking care of me.Tonight.Last night too.Do you do that with everyone?”
She resisted the urge to add to the questions, to ask if he felt like it was his job to take care of other people.If he put others’ needs before his own.She wasn’t at work.
He looked slightly uncomfortable.“I do get a little possessive.”Now his expression morphed into a grimace.“That makes me sound like someone’s psycho ex on a true crime podcast.It’s not that I think of people as my possessions or something, it’s that I think of them as my people.Ilias says it’s tribal.That once my brain tags someone as being part of my tribe, my instincts tell my lizard brain that it’s my job to take care of, and protect, them.”
It was the first time in their admittedly brief acquaintance that he’d seemed off-balance.
“I was unaware one’s instincts were separate from the lizard brain.”She smiled to show she was trying to tease and lighten the mood.“And yes, it does make sense.The game created a situation where you mentally tagged me as one of your tribe, and you’re acting accordingly.”
As she realized the implications of that, Nomi’s stomach dropped.Maybe this was why Tareq reacted to her the way he had.Maybe this drive to protect and care for people he viewed as part of his tribe overrode any objections he might otherwise have about sceneing with her.
“Not the game.”
Nomi heard him and nodded, but wasn’t really listening.
Tareq’s hand closed over her wrist.The contact was unexpected, his hold tight.She stared at her wrist, then raised her gaze to his face.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now is wrong.”
“How would you have any idea what I’m thinking?”
