Page 36 of Heartless As Puck

My breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled over to the mirror, planted my hands on the vanity, and looked myself in the eyes.

Could I actually do this?

My pupils were pinpricks and it was difficult to focus on my reflection.

My vision swam.

I drew in a deep breath, inhaling for four, holding the breath for four seconds, and exhaling slowly.

Spots began to appear and I leaned forward, worried I might fall.

Using one of my old techniques, I focused on identifying four things I could see. My reflection. The mirror. The tap. My toothbrush.

Next, I concentrated on four things I could feel. The brush of my hair against my cheek. The soft fabric of the pants against my legs. The inner-sole of my shoes. The smooth surface of the vanity under my hands.

The spots receded and I continued to breathe steadily until I returned fully to the present moment.

Okay, I could do this.

It wouldn’t be easy, but few things were.

Gathering myself, I checked to make sure I hadn’t sweated through my clothes, then went downstairs to meet Austin.

Immediately, I wished I had something a little more “wow factor” in my closet. I was hopelessly outmatched compared to him. The man looked amazing in business casual, and the gym clothes he wore in the mornings showed off his body to great effect but put him in a pair of jeans and a blue shirt and he looked like the all-American dream guy.

The jeans clung to his strong butt and thighs, and the blue shirt made his eyes appear even more electric than ever.

“You look nice,” he said, opening the garage door and holding it for me. “Would you like to drive, or shall I?”

For a moment, I was surprised that he’d asked, but then I remembered this was an all-new aspect to our relationship, and he was probably trying to avoid the assumption that I’d chauffeur him around the way I usually did.

“I’ll drive.” I knew he preferred not to, and I was happy to have a distraction. Driving would help prevent me from panicking again.

During the drive to the Navy Pier, neither of us spoke much. It was just as well this wasn’t a real date or the silence probably wouldn’t have been a good sign.

I parked a few blocks away because there was nowhere closer, and we walked alongside each other, awkwardly drifting closer and then edging farther away, neither of us quite sure how far to take the charade and how cozy we should look.

A couple of times, my breath started to speed up, and I had to force myself to slow it and remain calm. My palms were damp, so I subtly wiped them on my pants whenever I got the chance.

Dinner was delicious. I had a buttery pasta dish cooked to absolute perfection. It was lovely to splurge. I tended to eat healthily because I typically just had whatever Austin did, and his diet was very carefully controlled. I did feel a tiny bit bad for savoring each mouthful of the carby goodness while he ate his steak with steamed vegetables, but I didn’t let the guilt get the best of me.

After we finished, Austin asked if I’d like to return home, but even though I noticed a few people looking at us, I didn’t think we’d made quite the splash that Gus had hoped for, so much as I hated the idea of encouraging more eyes on us, I suggested we go for a walk through the gardens instead.

I may not like attention, but I’d committed to this and I was going to do it properly.

Austin paid the bill, and we left through the front door, wandering toward the gardens. Fairy lights overhead illuminated the area, and I pulled my jacket tighter around myself as the cold breeze ruffled my hair.

We’d only passed a couple of the circular gardens when a group of people stopped us and asked for Austin’s autograph. I concentrated on breathing and pretending not to notice the way they glanced at me curiously as he signed everything they offered him, maintaining his usual distant but polite attitude toward fans.

By the time we made it through the gardens, he must have signed over a dozen hastily proffered objects, including the back of someone’s hand—which I suspected they’d never wash again.

“The Centennial wheel?” he asked, glancing up at the wheel that towered over the pier, glowing white and purple neon.

“Why not?” I didn’t mind heights. They weren’t my favorite, but as long as I had a solid platform beneath my feet, they didn’t usually bother me much.

We stood in line, and I kept close to his side as the guy managing the ride waved us into a box. The door closed behind us. We sat side by side and gazed out the window as the box jolted into motion and we climbed higher into the air.

It was dark, but the bright lights and business of the pier made it seem festive. As we reached the top of the wheel’s arc, the glittering lights of Chicago sprawled before us in one direction, the dark and endless surface of the lake in the other. At moments like this, it may as well have been the sea for how massive it seemed.