Page 35 of Offside Devil

Zane studies me, dissecting my expression in a way I really, really wish he wouldn’t. Finally, he answers, “Since we were kids. We were on the same pee-wee team.”

“He played hockey?”

“Since he could walk.”

I frown. “I thought… Well, with his leg, I didn’t know if he could?—”

“He can’t. Not anymore.” Zane turns back around and wheels the luggage cart to the last door on the right. Before I can ask, he explains. “It was a car accident. Four years ago. His leg was crushed. They couldn’t save it.”

Based on his reaction, I know there’s more to this story. I want to ask, but I don’t exactly have the moral high ground when it comes to being honest.

I have my secrets, so I guess I have to let Zane have his.

For now.

Zane is already stacking my boxes along the far wall of the bedroom when I walk inside. I look around the room, noting the queen-sized bed and the large window, but I’m on the hunt for personal items. Cell phone charger, a retainer, an extra-large box of extra-large condoms—something that would tell me whether this is Zane’s room or not.

There’s nothing. The room is as spotless as the rest of the house.

“Bathroom is through there.” He tips his head to the door to his right. “The temperature can fluctuate when we’re running the dishwasher, but otherwise, there’s nothing you need to know.”

I need to know if you and I are going to be sleeping in this bed together, I think.

I clear my throat. “That’s—That’s my bathroom, yeah?”

Zane keeps moving boxes and doesn’t look up. “It’s the ensuite.”

“My ensuite?” I ask again. “This is my bedroom?”

Finally, he stops. He plants his hands on his hips and looks at me. Just looks at me. Waiting, amusement dancing in his annoyingly blue eyes.

I frown. “What’s so funny?”

“Watching you try not to panic thinking about sleeping in that bed with me.”

I huff out a breath. “Just tell me. Is this your room, too? Are we sharing it?”

Zane tips his head to the side and I feel like a mouse sitting in front of a lion. He might as well pluck me up by my tail and dangle me in the air in front of him. “Is that what you want, Mira?”

It doesn’t matter what I want. People want all kinds of things that are terrible for them. The only thing that matters is what I need. Right now, I need my own bedroom.

“What I want is for you to answer the question.”

He steps over a box, slowly making his way towards me. I want to back away, but I hold my ground. I won’t let him see me retreat.

“Why would you think I’d move you into my bedroom, Mira?”

“Because we’re fake dating.” I shrug. “I don’t know. Couples who live together typically share a bedroom. I thought we might—in case CPS comes and searches—I don’t know!”

I’m suddenly aware of exactly how little I’ve thought all of this through. I should’ve gotten this arrangement in writing and notarized.

His smile is gone. His eyes look darker and I tell myself it’s because of the lights in here. “Would you share a room with me if I asked?”

Yes.

The answer is on the tip of my tongue, but this feels like a trap. Whatever I say, he’s going to hold me to it, and I don’t know what any of this means yet.

I want to help him keep his son. I want enough money to start over somewhere far away.

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