Page 62 of Follow the Rhythm
“He’s notobsessedwith me,” I said to Grace. We were in her room because I had exhausted my limited wardrobe, and I thought maybe she’d have something I could borrow. I wasverywrong. The contents of her suitcase were exploded across her bed. “Do you turn all of your shirts into muscle tanks?”
“I mean, wouldn’t you?” She flexed her admittedly impressive biceps with a smug smile.
“This is pointless.” I tossed a ripped-up shirt back onto the pile. “I’m going to have to wear something he’s already seen me in five million times.”
“Where are you going? And can I come and watch from a respectful distance?”
“No idea. And absolutely not. No stalking.” I pointed at her sternly and she pouted dramatically.
“Ugh. Fine. I’m just so bored,” Grace said and flopped dramatically onto the pile of her clothes.
“Go find someone to hook up with, then.” Maybe if she had her ownsituationto focus on, she’d stop meddling so much in my life.
Grace sighed. “I would, but I kind of have a crush right now. You know Stevie?”
“Stevie? Drill-sergeant Stevie? The woman who tried to break the spirit of your poor, innocent friend?” I placed my hand over my heart and gave her a doe-eyed look.
“You get alongnow,” Grace said earnestly. “I’m getting vibes from her. What do you think?”
The only vibe I’d ever gotten from Stevie was that she still kind of hated me, no matter how well I did my job. “She’s a completely asexual being to me. But there’s only one way to find out, I guess. Go for it.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna text Charlie and see if he knows where she’s hanging out tonight.”
The mention of Charlie made my stomach clench again, this time with annoyance. I didn’t appreciate his running to Kieran right after I gave him a heads-up about our date. I should’ve just let him find out on his own.
He didn’t want anything serious with me, and someone else did. End of story.
I ignored the little voice in my head that whispered he was jealous because hedidwant something serious after all. I would not waste my time trying to find deeper meaning in an Alpha’s behavior.
In the end, I wore dark jeans and a black velvet top with lace sleeves and a row of white, pearly buttons down the center. It was impractical for the heat of early summer, especially since we’d made our way to the middle of the country and St. Louis felt like a wet, hot blanket. But once an emo girl, always an emo girl.
I also slathered on descenter. I didn’t trust myself around Kieran.
I met him in the hotel lobby at seven, after a couple of restless hours pacing in my room. It was incredible how used to sleeping on the bus and in hotels I’d become in such a relatively short time, how the hotels we stayed at were all blending into one. But I thought I might remember this hotel lobby for a while, thanks to him.
We were staying at a refurbished historic hotel from the 1920s. The lobby was pretty small and felt even smaller thanks to the warm brown wood paneling on the walls. Kieran seemed to take up all the available space, and looked like a time traveler dropped into the wrong era in his jeans, brown leather boots, and flannel shirt. His long hair was down and extra curly in the humidity.
If I didn’t know him better, his intense expression would have intimidated me, but now it just made my heart beat faster. I recognized the heat in his gaze.
Before I had time to get nervous, I was standing in front of him.
“You look incredible,” he said and slid one of his massive hands around my waist. It spanned my entire lower back. Hisscent - sliced sweet strawberries muddled with fresh mint - enveloped me.
“You too,” I replied with a smile. Was I beingcoy? Disgusting.
“Shall we?”
“Where are we going?” I asked as we ventured outside, Kieran’s hand still at my back. It was proof of how weak I’d become that I didn’t shrug it off. He guided me to a shiny black sports car waiting at the curb. I raised an eyebrow at him.
“I was sick of being driven around,” he said with a shrug as he opened the door for me, a faint blush staining his cheeks above his beard. “And I wanted to have some privacy.”
Kieran drove us through the streets of Victorian townhomes that reminded me of the neighborhood I’d lived in at the Omega Center. We parked outside one that was converted into a restaurant called “The White Willow,” presumably named after the enormous willow tree in the front yard.
It was cozy, with just a few tables in a dining room dominated by a large fireplace, and complicated plasterwork floral designs on the ceiling.
I was impressed that Kieran had found such a quiet place. We were sitting at a table in the back corner, which felt even more private. None of the other diners, mostly older couples, even looked twice at us.
“This is nice,” I whispered after the server took our drink orders. I had ordered the one glass of pinot that I would allow myself to drink that night.
