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Damn it. What could they have to say for this long? My stomach gurgled, too empty to be nauseous, too nauseous to seek out food.
“Stop staring, man.” Carl jostled my shoulder before he stood, flagging a server. “Here, have a drink.”
He set a champagne flute in front of me, but I didn’t sip it. Instead, I merely twirled the glass while Carl wandered away to talk to some Broadway starlet, leaving me alone in the booth. The last thing I wanted was bubbly happiness in a glass. No, I needed something that would burn the whole way down, but Carl was right. People were watching. People were always watching. I’d told Duncan to ignore that fact, but that didn’t change the truth that eyeballs and camera lenses were always pointed at me.
If I got trashed on tequila, Kate would have to deal with the publicity fallout while the headlines all speculated about why I’d gotten shitfaced on such a happy night. And that might lead gossip to Duncan, and I couldn’t have that. Fuck. I hated living in this fish bowl sometimes. At first, it had been fun, then a welcome obligation, but now it was this giant kettlebell I carried around my neck, making it hard to breathe. Not to mention harder to run away. I could breathe around Duncan. He made all this bearable, and why couldn’t he see how much I needed him?
Maybe because you didn’t tell him. I told my brain to go fuck off with that line of thinking. But it was true. I did need him. Duncan gave me something I’d been missing. He was like a palatial bed piled high with thousand-thread count bedding, and I simply hadn’t realized how exhausted I was until our worlds collided. I wanted to sink into him and never leave.
But maybe he didn’t feel the same way. He didn’t need me, not like I needed him, and that sucked. Oh, fuck it. I took a sip of champagne and immediately regretted it as it turned sickly sweet. My empty stomach rebelled. I really should—
“Eat something.” Like I’d summoned him, Duncan appeared in front of my booth with a plate of appetizers. With his other hand, he gestured at all the empty cups littering the table. “You don’t want to drink too much on an empty stomach.”
“The empties are Carl’s, Kate’s, and everyone else’s. This is my only drink, Mother.”
Duncan made an indignant noise. “Hey, I’m allowed to worry over you. I still want you safe—”
“Because it’s your job,” I finished for him before I stood and brushed off my jeans, which were the same dusty ones I’d worn for the concert. I hadn’t been able to summon the energy for a post-show shower. “And congrats to you because this is the last night you have to be concerned about me.”
I was being way dramatic, which Duncan seemed to know because he tilted his head at me, expression more pitying than frustrated. “I’m always going to worry about you. On the clock or off.”
“If it’s after midnight, your contract is technically done. You could be off the clock right now.” I put extra heat into my words and gaze, raking my eyes over him. “Dance with me.” I gestured at the packed dance floor. “No one will care.”
That was a lie. All those lurking eyeballs and cameras were still out there. This was still a bad idea with repercussions beyond the two of us, but right then, I simply wanted. I wanted so damn much. And his eyes were pained, mouth a thin line. He wanted too. But then he shook his head sadly.
“I can’t.”
“Whatever. I’m gonna dance anyway.” I didn’t want to. I’d rather slump in some corner somewhere with the food Duncan had brought me. Or even better with Duncan himself. But apparently, my dramatic mood extended to flouncing off.
“Stay safe,” he called after me.
In my weird mood, that felt like a challenge, and I felt obligated to actually dance. I found space near some speakers at the edge of the dance floor, and I let the bass boom through me until I could close my eyes and let my body take over. I danced like Duncan was watching, an electric thought that carried me into the next song.
But then a guy and girl in their early twenties kept crowding closer and closer. They seemed to be a couple, both in black tank tops, and I paid them the least attention possible until they moved apart, deftly bracketing me. The dark-haired girl ran a hand down my arm.
“Hey!” I tried to move away, but they’d positioned themselves in such a way that it was hard.
“What’s wrong? You don’t want to have fun?” She made big eyes at me, seduction only serving to make my stomach churn more.
