Page 63 of Alive At Night

“Absolutely fucking not,” Julian snapped, his tone low—so low that something burned inside me.

“Noted.”

“You’re tense again,” Julian muttered, which I thought was hypocritical considering how rigid he suddenly felt against me. His breath brushed the top of my head as his touch grew firmer—like he was trying harder to comfort me when, in reality, it made my head spin. “Does the thought of a good night’s sleep freak you out that much?”

“Of course not.”

It had nothing to do with sleep.

Julian released me, but he did it slowly. First, his hand dropped from my back. Then his arm released its hold around me. And finally, he stepped away.

I’d hoped that the step away would help me breathe better, but here I was, still thinking about sharing a hotel room with Julian.

Indecision reared its ugly head as my brain analyzed my options in a rapid-fire fashion. It quickly came down to only three: share a room with Julian for a weekend, go to the wedding alone without knowing anyone else there, or don’t go to the wedding at all.

I sighed.

Sharing a room with Julian, it was.

* * *

“Gracias por su tiempo.¡Qué tenga un buen día! ¡Hasta pronto!”

I ended the call with my client, feeling eyes on the back of my neck as I put the phone down. Sure enough, I found Julian watching me when I spun in my chair. He leaned against the door frame, arms folded over his chest. Before I could call him out for being creepy, he tilted his head and smiled.

He’d smiled a lot in the last week and a half. I half wondered if I needed to let him know that he didn’t need to start being nice to me until the weekend, but at the same time, I didn’t want to jinx anything. Or give up the smiles.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

“Really?” I matched him, cocking my head to the same side. “And here I thought you claimed to know me better than anyone.”

“I didn’t say better thananyone,” he corrected. “I said better than any otherman.”

I hated that that was true. It was an indicator of all my failed relationships. The guy who knew me better than anyone shouldn’t be my best friend’s brother.

Leaning back in my chair, I crossed my arms over my chest and gave Julian a pointed look. “Well, my last boyfriend knew I spoke Spanish, so…”

His eyes flitted over me quickly before meeting my gaze. “Evan?”

I raised a brow, surprised he knew his name. I nodded.

“So he knows more than me, huh?” Julian clarified.

“Yep.”

I said it definitively.

And like a challenge.

Julian, of course, accepted.

“Guess we’ll have to change that.” He grabbed his chair, pulled it toward my desk, and then sat. We were close enough that our knees nearly touched, and Julian folded his hands in his lap like he planned to interview me. “So, when did you learn Spanish?”

I should have known that interviewing me waspreciselywhat he planned to do.

I cleared my throat. “In high school.”

His brows furrowed momentarily. “I remember you taking French in high school.”

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