Page 109 of The Gaybor War

"Thank you."

I glance down at the inscription. To my hottest fan.

My mouth twitches.

He nods, his expression soft and sincere beneath the teasing. "Anytime."

As I step back, the glossy surface catches the overhead lights and my reflection. I barely recognize the man staring back at me. His shoulders are looser. His mouth is softer. His eyes are brighter. Warmer. Unguarded.

I look like a man falling in love.

And instead of feeling scared shitless, I feel… ready.

Chapter 27

The adrenaline crash hits about fifteen minutes after the line disappears. It always does. One minute, I’m alert and buzzing, high on conversation and connection and validation. The next, I’m sitting on the edge of the hotel bed in socked feet, glaring at the carpet.

I love people.

I love crowds.

I love being seen.

And I am exhausted.

Carter moves around the room quietly, maybe sensing I need space. He sets my bag down, straightens the chair, and lines his shoes up with military precision by the door. There’s comfort in his order, in the way he makes chaos behave. I could use a touch of that in my life.

I drop back onto the mattress with a dramatic groan.

"Ah, the inevitable collapse. My old nemesis."

"Need water?"

"God, yes."

He hands me a bottle. Our fingers brush, again, as if they’re magnetized. Like they’ve forgotten how to stop doing that. I sit up, take a long drink, then let myself fall sideways, half sprawled across the pillows.

"I forgot how intense that is," I admit. "It’s like speed dating."

He sits beside me, careful not to jostle. "You were incredible."

I snort. "I was on. There’s a difference."

He studies me. "Explain."

I roll onto my side, propping my head on my hand. "Performing is easier than being real."

His brow furrows and I resist the urge to lean forward and kiss it smooth.

"Out there, I know what I’m doing. I know my lines. My beats. My rhythm. I know how to make people laugh. I know how to make them feel safe. I know how to hold space for them." I hesitate, then shrug lightly. "In here, I have to be… me."

"That seems like the easier option."

I laugh softly. "For you, maybe."

He doesn’t push, just listens. God, I’m starting to crave that.

"You," I point, "are profoundly unnerving."