Page 69 of Serving the Maestro

“I’m not avoiding you,” I said, giving her my best innocent look.”

“Liar.” She crossed her legs at the ankles and studied me.

I had to fight not to look away from her. Cam hid it well, but she was deeply intuitive, and she knew me better than anybody else in the world.

“I was going to ask how things went with Roger, but looking at you now, I think it’d be a waste of time. You’re definitely not basking in the glow of crazy monkey sex.”

Something sour rose in my throat.

Shoving back from the desk, I walked over to the mini-fridge and grabbed a can of ginger ale. Even downing half the can didn’t wash the bad taste from my mouth, though, and I could feel Cam’s razor-sharp focus.

“Jazz?”

The concern in her voice almost broke me. I had to clear my throat before speaking around the huge knot swelling there. “Give me a minute.”

Instead of answering, she came over and took my hand, leading me to the couch tucked between two windows. I didn’t resist. My legs were feeling kind of shaky, and the longer I thought about what happened Friday night, the shakier I felt—and not just my legs.

“I slept with him.”

Cam blinked, her surprise obvious. “Okay...that wasn’t what I expected to hear. Not considering how you look now—or how you were Friday night.” She brushed back my hair and tucked it behind my ear. “If I’m going to be honest, I’d say you had plans to cut him loose that night. You just weren’t into him. Am I wrong?”

“No.” I took another drink from the soft drink, then put it down. “There just wasn’t anything there. Plus, I’m still hung up on Trent. But he wanted to stop for a drink—it was that Italian bistro a few blocks from my building.”

Cam nodded. “Okay.”

“I had to go to the bathroom first, and when I went out to join Roger, he already had drinks.” Shaking my head, I told her, “They must have been strong. I don’t remember much of anything after two or three sips.”

Cam took my hand and squeezed. “What?”

“I ended up plastered.” With a half-hearted shrug, I said, “I’m not exactly a lightweight, but I’m not a heavy drinker, either. After those first couple of sips, everything is black until I woke up in his apartment. We were both in bed, naked. I put two and two together.”

A cold sweat broke out over my skin, and I shivered.

“Sweetie, I think you’re missing a couple of numbers.”

“What?” Confused, I shook my head.

Cam leaned—or rather—swayed close, bracing a hand between us so her belly didn’t throw her off balance. With her free hand, she touched my cheek.

“Listen to what you just told me. You went into a bathroom, let some guy you don’t know all that well order drinks. Then you wake up hours later naked and in bed with him.” She paused, anger and sympathy both warring in her eyes. “What does that sound like?”

The bottom of my belly dropped out as my mind connected all the dots.

No.

My mind had already figured out that equation—I’d just been hiding from the knowledge.

Why else had I felt so sick, so...wrong every time I thought about waking up at his place?

“He roofied me,” I said, voice flat.

“I can’t say for certain one way or the other.” Cam had an opinion, and it burned in her eyes. “But if you were in my shoes, what would you think?”

Lurching off the couch, I paced the floor, mind spinning as I tried to pierce the veil of black that separated me from the memory of the time with Roger after that drink.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

I spun around and faced Cam from across the room. “What should I do?”

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