Page 78 of Opening Strain

“Believe me, I am.”

She says this with so much conviction, I can almost believe her.

Time stands still.

I breathe her in.

Her phone blares. She checks her cell and murmurs, “I have to take this.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Phone to her ear, Jenna walks deeper into the basement while our conversation swirls through my mind. I want to be worthy of her belief in me. Could she make me a better man? Disbelief roars through my body. Do I want her to?

After a few minutes, she reappears. “Ma wants to know if we’d like to go to her house for dinner?”

Sadness washes over me. Unlike mine, I know how much her mother means to her. However, with the reporters all around, I don’t think it’s a good idea.

I’m about to tell her no when she shakes her head. “We’d love to, but I need to get Bennett stage-ready, so we need to do more physical therapy. We’ve hit crunch time.”

Nothing about the paps. Makes sense for her to protect her mother. Besides, my option for security still is on the table.

She walks around the exercise room and arcade, not stopping in one spot for too long, chatting with her mother. Her voice is pitched low, but I’m not tempted to intrude on their conversation any more than I already have. Instead, her belief in me—I’m more than a rock star—plays on repeat.

Stopping next to me, she says, “All right, Ma. I’ll keep you posted.” She disconnects the call. “It’s better she thinks I’m working than running from the media. She’s still not over everything that went down with Darren.”

We need to talk about her ex-boyfriend, the guy who saved me from spending my senior year of high school at my mother’s house. Hell, we need to discuss whatever’s going on between us. So many heavy thoughts swirl.

Her stomach growls.

Food takes priority. “How about we go upstairs, light the fire, and order takeout?”

She rubs her stomach. “Yeah, it’s been a while since we both ate. Let’s go.” She heads toward the stairs. From the third one, she raises her eyebrow. “Coming?”

Not yet. “Think I should take the elevator?”

“No. You don’t have any luggage with you and the exercise will do you good. Take your time.”

Bolstered by her approval, I walk over to the staircase and take the steps up at a snail’s pace, hanging on to the handrail. My groin muscle protests a little but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Once we get to the kitchen, I plant my ass on a stool in front of the huge island. Resting my elbows on the quartz, I huff, “I made it.” Wish I wasn’t so winded.

“Good job.” She looks around the kitchen before pulling out a box labelled “Local Restaurants.”

Impressive. I’d never seen such a box. My phone and Google usually do the trick.

She remarks, “At least they’re organized. I have one of these at home. Makes life so much easier.” She flips through various menus and holds one up. “Italian?”

Whereas she’s controlled and systematic, I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type of guy. We couldn’t be more different, yet why does something in her call out to my soul? “Sounds good to me. I’ll have chicken parmesan.” It’s my go-to Italian meal.

“I’ll order the same. Plus a bottle of red.”

“Now you’re talking my language.” I’d prefer a Manhattan, but wine with Italian food is always a good choice. “Make it a Barolo.”

Her eyebrows lift, but she places our orders, which will be here in forty minutes. I like how capable she is. Most of the women I hook up with either don’t eat or leave all the decisions to me. It’s nice to be pampered by a woman who knows her own mind. Another first.

I tug on the end of her ponytail. “You’re unique.”

“Wouldn’t want to be considered boring,” she quips. She opens various cabinets. “Aha! Snacks before dinner.”

She pulls out chips. Then she checks the fridge, holding up some cheeses and even a salsa. “I’m too hungry to wait.”

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