Page 30 of Faking It
“I can sleep on the couch,” I offer.
“Great. Perfect. And I’m sure Mick won’t wonder why this new and madly in love couple never appear to sleep in the same place.”
“Mick?”
“Our driver.”
I look over my shoulder to the empty driver’s seat and realize I hadn’t thought about there being someone present for our every conversation. Our every fight. Our every, everything.
“But he works for you. Can’t you just have him sign whatever those things are that says he can’t talk?”
“An NDA?” Anger edges every word he utters.
“Sure.” I lean my back against the wall. “That way Robert never finds out.”
“Let’s see . . . you work for me, you’ve signed an NDA, and yet you and Robert still chat about everything.”
“That’s different.”
“Not the way I see it.”
“Will you stop being so damn difficult?” I throw my hands up. “I’m nowhere near happy with this arrangement either. I had plans. I had—”
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“Plans? What were you planning on doing? Knitting a sweater in between appearances?” He stands to full height and in this moment I hate everything about him. The fact that I’m here. The way he looks in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the cuffs. The danger warring in his eyes.
“Knitting a sweater?”
“You’re so uptight, I figure you have to do something to unwind.”
“Uptight?” I laugh, but then it slowly fades off as my synapses fire and the bed behind him comes into clear focus. “That’s what this is all about?” I screech and throw my hands up in the air. “I should’ve known. You’re pissed because with me here—and with one bed—you won’t be able to sleep your way through every city.”
His chuckle doesn’t hold an ounce of humor. “Sure. Yes. That’s exactly what this is about.”
“Great. I’ll steer clear of you so you can do whatever it is you do.”
“Make sure you do that.”
“I will—”
The clomping of feet up the steps of the tour bus stops me from finishing my comment.
“Are we ready to hit the road?”
I turn to see the owner of the soft southern drawl. He’s short and wide and has a white beard that could rival Santa Claus. His smile is broad and his hand holds a steaming cup of coffee.
“You must be Mick?” I say as I step forward and shake his free hand.
“And you must be Harlow. So nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I say.
“Mate.” Zane greets him from behind me with a slight nod of his head.
Mick smiles at him and then looks back at me. “I loaded the cupboards with food and put all of your belongings away as well. The gas tank is full and I’m caffeinated. Are you two ready to hit the road and head to Arizona?”
We both murmur some form of consent as Mick ambles toward the driver’s seat, his humming and jovial spirit nowhere near a reflection of the midnight hour reflected on the clock . Within moments, the engine rumbles to life, the bus vibrating from its force.
