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Acid churned in her empty stomach and heat rushed up her neck. “I am,” she said, but even she didn’t sound like she was convinced.
She put her cup down so hard the coffee sloshed up the side. “I’m a regular person, Ace. I’m not better or worse than anyone else. I breathe and eat and have trouble sleeping and fight with my boss and love my family and want better for the world.” She closed her eyes and took a breath as she tried to sound less defensive. “I’m a person. I’m just a person. Just like anyone else.”
His expression shifted as she spoke—going from thoughtful to watchful and then something else she wasn’t familiar with. He left his seat and came around the island, stopping in front of her, stern and focused.
“Zara,” he said softly. “You’re a person. Absolutely. But you know…” He dipped his head and caught her eyes. “Youknow…nothing about your life is regular.”
Her sinuses burned and she blinked away the moisture. “I know.” But she hated that it was true. She didn’t want it anymore.
Which immediately made her feel guilty and ungrateful. She had so much more than so many and she was crying about it?
He put a finger under her chin and lifted. His dark eyes scanned her face, soft and serious. “You are a person. Of that I have no doubt. But you’re not regular folks. Even without all the albums and the awards and the fame. You’re top tier folks.”
He was being funny again and it was almost working. Maybe because he was still saying real things, just in a funny way.
She smiled and his eyes dropped to her mouth and held. His hand fell away and he took a step back.
“Can I askyoua weird personal question?” she asked, picking her coffee up again and changing the subject.
His lips pursed and he nodded once.
“Why are you reading my book? Did you take that from my room?”
His mouth pulled up on the side in that lopsided smirky hot way and then he rubbed his thumb over his lower lip.
She should have known by his reaction that his answer wasn’t going to be the distraction she was seeking.
“You, uh, you fell asleep on the stairs last night. I carried you upstairs.”
What?
She blinked and shook her head, positive she hadn’t heard him right.
“You don’t remember?” he asked, watching her carefully.
“I fell asleep on the stairs,” she repeated.
He nodded.
“You carried me. Upstairs.” Her mind raced through everything she could remember from the day before.
She felt queasy. Heat rushed up her neck to her cheeks.
“Well, not up the stairs. I took the elevator,” he clarified.
“That makes sense,” she whispered, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Hey.” He stepped forward and grabbed her chin in a gentle pinch. “Stop.”
Her eyes darted to his.
“Stop chewing on that lip. It’s fucking raw.” He sniffed a laugh and let her go. The heat from his touch lingered on her skin. “What were you doing sleeping on the stairs?” he asked, completely unaware that her brain had stopped working entirely.
When was the last time someone had called her out on her lip biting? Her dad, maybe? It had been years since she’d struggled with the habit but it had come back over the last month without her really noticing until she saw the evidence when she looked in the mirror.
She measured the distance between them. Took in his relaxed posture and open body language.
“Are we friends?” she asked.
