Page 16 of One Secret

He takes a measured breath. In. Out.

'Whatever you read is irrelevant,' he finally says, before meeting my gaze again. 'I'm not taking you anywhere.'

'Your companion didn't seem to be giving you much of a choice,' I point out.

'Me much of a choice. Not you.'

Cyrus seems highly intent on reducing his meeting to an insignificance. One that I'm supposed to forget post-haste.

Yeah not so easy, buster.

'He said he'd investigate me if I don't go with you.'

'He'll investigate you, regardless.'

Anger spikes but I try to keep my voice calm.

'That's because you called me your girlfriend.'

One corner of Cyrus's mouth is definitely a millimeter higher than the other now. His version of amusement.

'You have a problem with that?' he taunts.

'Yes.'

I don't hesitate in my answer. The both of us, through some unspoken agreement, have made our intentions and the pattern of our acquaintance very clear.

Cyrus rolls into town. If he has the time and inclination (and it's a night I'm working), he swings by The Blue Star. If I have the time and inclination, I join him after my shift. His hotel room, the back of his rental, (the cleaning closet)... I'd even taken him to my place once. But the location is always about convenience over intimacy. Then we have sex.

Okay, we have mind-blowing, physics-altering, never-knew-how-you-lived-without-it sex. If you want to get specific.

And then Cyrus leaves. On to his next foray into the dark and seedy underworld that he'd momentarily risen from.

Sometimes it's days before it happens again. Sometimes weeks. Once or twice, it had been a month. This last time had been nearly two.

My doctor has the precise date.

Either way, not exactly the setup of a romantic pairing.

So, yes, I have a problem with him calling me his girlfriend.

'More specifically,' I add, 'I have a problem with men like your friend running my information.'

'Not my friend,' Cyrus grunts.

'Exactly my point. I don't want men like that looking into me.'

'Men "like that"?' Cyrus asks with a raised eyebrow.

I narrow my eyes.

'Men like you.'

'Ouch,' he says, deadpan.

'Am I wrong?' I challenge.

'Nope.'

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