Page 28 of Dopplebanger

Evan’s demeanor morphed into serious mode as he squared off in front of me and crossed his arms. “But I do want to talk to you about something I don’t think is the smartest of choices.”

I frowned. This was going downhill quickly. Maybe I should throw the covers over my head, reset, and try again. I’d roll onto my side, flash him a coquettish smile, and say in a smoky, sultry voice, “My wish is for you to come over here and join me. After I brush my teeth and comb my hair, that is.”

Yeah, real spontaneous.

An idea about asking him to join me in the shower flickered through my head, but then I noticed his hair was damp and he was all dressed and ready to go, and a pang of disappointment went through me. Apparently he’d gone and showered without me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “We’re going to talk about this whether you like it or not.”

I flopped down on my heels. “I feel like I need coffee before this conversation.”

The bed dipped with Evan’s weight. “And I feel like it’s better if I get this out before you start talking one-hundred miles an hour and distract me with that pretty mouth of yours.” He reached up and brushed his thumb across my lowerlip, and butterflies fluttered, helping blow some of the rising apprehension away.

A hungry look entered his eyes as they skimmed down me, and he swallowed hard. Then he seemed to shake himself out of it, his hand dropping to his side. “This saving your EpiPen thing? I don’t like it. I need you to keep breathing.”

Oh. That wasn’t nearly as bad as I was imagining. “Okay, but I did keep breathing. Not sure about the walking and talking, but I breathed all night.” I spread my arms to demonstrate how fine I was. “Obviously.”

Amusement danced across the curve of his mouth. “You talked some, too.”

My stomach bottomed out and I dropped my head in my hands. “Of course I did.”

“Do you remember telling the hotel clerk that you were basically taking advantage of me.”

I groaned as the hazy memory came back to me.

Evan peeled my hands from my face and wrapped them in his. “In the middle of the night, you also told me that grooming was all booked, but you could slot me in for my rabies shots.”

My cheeks burned. “I did not,” I automatically said, although I didn’t truly doubt it. I often dreamed about work, and on any given day, people came in without an appointment and couldn’t believe I wouldn’t simply bump other animals for their pookie-poo.

He slipped his fingers into mine. “Where else would I get that from? It’s a very particular thing to make up—my imagination’s not that good.”

Not that denial would help my embarrassment, but I clung to it anyway. “Unless you’re just a liar, liar, pants on fire, thinking you can take advantage of your gullible girlfriend thanks to her drug-induced coma.”

Every ounce of humor evaporated from his features and then he was pulling away.

“Evan, it was a joke.” That only seemed to cause him more pain. “Would now be a bad time to ask if you’ve had your rabies shots?” My attempt to lighten the mood dive-bombed, crashing to the ground in a puff of smoke.

“Breakfast is almost over, so I’ll go grab us what I can while you shower, and then we better push off so we can make all of today’s stops.”

Never before had he cared about schedules, and while he’d acted more psyched about our sight-seeing than expected, something still didn’t add up. Maybe my hair and breath were even worse than I’d imagined.

The quiet hung heavy as soon as the door closed behind him. Since I didn’t know what to do about that, I rushed through a shower, dressed, and braided my wet hair. Since we were already thirty-minutes behind my original scheduled departure time, I kept my makeup minimal and rushed through packing up.

Evan came back with a handful of pastries and fruit. “I made sure there’s nothing with peanuts—as in I asked until the manager looked like she was going to strangle me, but you might want to read the labels to be doubly safe. Also, where is your EpiPen?”

“In my purse. But like I said, the side effects of having to use it suck, and if it’s only a mild attack, it’s much too expens?—”

The stern look he shot me cut off the rest of my sentence. Then he gathered our suitcases and started for the door.

Confusion set in. One minute he would be flirty, and then he was distant, but then he was also worried about my allergies and overall health, and I could tell it was more than worrying he’d have to cart me to the hospital.

Maybe we just weren’t in the same place, though.

Here I’d gone all in, and he was still holding back.

The first hundred miles passed in relative silence, save the radio—his choice—and it wasn’t the comfortable silence. Not that I ever really found not-talking comfortable, but this was on a whole new level.

“Did you need me to drive?” I asked.

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