Page 48 of Offside Devil

I need to make sure it stays that way or I really will wind up “off my trolley.”

“If you want to take him out, go ahead. I don’t need to be there.”

She chews on the corner of her mouth as her cheeks flush. “I know you don’t need to be there. I was just offering in case?—”

“In case I decide to do your job for you?” I snort. “No, thanks. I already have one.”

Aiden walks into the living room with his Spiderman water bottle and light-up sneakers, and Mira turns all of her attention to him. That tension is still radiating off of her, like every cell is thrumming with it. She plops a red baseball cap on his head and doesn’t even glance in my direction as they stride out the door together.

Daniel is in the kitchen a beat later. He lets out a long, low whistle. “Wow. The assholery in this room is spreading. I’m gonna go before I catch any.” He snatches his keys off the counter and gives me a wave. “See you tomorrow, Z.”

As soon as he’s gone, Owen stands up. “Don’t listen to him. You did the right thing. Keep that woman in her box or you’ll regret it.”

But when everyone is gone and I’m left brooding at the counter alone, it doesn’t feel right at all.

21

MIRA

It shouldn’t bother me that Zane let his sponsor basically call me a gold-digging whore.

It definitely shouldn’t bother me that Zane has apparently been parading so many "bonnie lasses” through this condo that his friends can’t remember their names.

And it doesn’t bother me. None of it. I’m fine.

One day, two days, three days pass without any sexual tension incidents. No opening the door in my underwear or kissing nonexistent toothpaste off of his mouth.

Zane and I coexist in his two-thousand-square-foot condo, but it’s like we inhabit different universes. We don’t talk directly—everything goes via emails from Hanna.

Have Aiden ready by three and Mr. Whitaker will take him to the park. You can have the rest of the afternoon to yourself.

Mr. Whitaker has a team dinner tonight. He’ll watch Aiden from 4-7, but you’ll need to handle bedtime.

In the moments when we’re transitioning, Zane doesn’t look at me. He talks through Aiden the way awkward parents at the park do.

“Tell Mira goodbye, Aiden,” he’ll say. Or, “Say thank you to Mira.”

I guess I’m grateful he’s teaching Aiden to respect me, but I miss talking to him. God help me, I even miss him grilling me with questions I don’t want to answer over breakfast.

The sexual tension was better than the silence.

“Mira.”

I blink out of my thoughts and find Aiden standing in front of me holding a piece of printer paper.

Two days ago, he said my name for the first time and I’m still not over the shock of it. Really, I’m not over the adorable rasp in his little voice and the way he can’t say his R-sounds, so my name comes out sounding like “Miwa.” It’s the most precious thing in existence.

He thrusts the paper into my hands and I gasp. “Wow! This is beautiful artwork, Aiden. You’re ready for your own exhibition, I think. What is it?”

He taps on the larger colored scribble on the right side of the page. “Mira.”

“I know, I’m looking,” I tell him. “It’s beautiful. I love your use of color and movement. It’s high-brow stuff you’re doing here. Somebody call the Met.”

He frowns, frustrated, and taps the scribble again. “Mira. It’s Mira.”

Oh.

I look closer and, sure enough, it’s me. An abstract version, but there’s no doubt in my mind that the red scribble is my t-shirt and the blue scribbles are my jeans. He even used a black crayon and perfectly captured my hair… if I wore my hair in a 50s-style beehive, but hey, don’t rule that out yet. Who knows what the future may hold?

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