Page 12 of Kismet

“I’m thirty-two.”

Laughing, I respond, “Yeah, see. Only ten years older than me.” My hand reaches for the volume, increasing the sound.

“Getting awfully comfortable in my car already, I see.”

“Damn right. I told you, I’m a fun roadtripper.” I flash him my best pretty boy smirk, which seems to be contagious as his lips curl into a grin too. When he smiles wide enough, a small dimple pops through on his left side.I want to bite it.

We talk about school and what to expect with the convention for about an hour before I finally ask questions Ireallywant to know—the ones I’ve always wanted to ask, but have never had the chance since Stone always keeps things professional. “So, you’re married?”

Clearing his throat, he lifts his ring finger off the steering wheel, wiggling it. “Uh, yup. I sure am.”

I don’t miss the way his smile falters as he glances at his ring finger, or the way his body tensed up at the question.Interesting.

“How long have y’all been together?”

He laughs, turning his gaze on me for a moment before returning it to the road. “We’re getting personal now, huh? Are you supposed to ask your professor these things?”

“Beats me.” I laugh. “Just answer the question, teach.”

Glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, the faintest of smirks slides onto his lips at the nickname. “We’ve been together since we were fifteen. Got married right out of high school.”

What’s their relationship like after all these years? Is he happy? Satisfied? I want to ask, but even I know that’d be crossing a line. “Damn. Long ass time.”

“It sure is.” The crooked smile is still on his face as he switches lanes.

His body language or tone of voice is, irritatingly, giving nothing away. What I would give to get inside his head.

“You guys have kids?”

“We do not.”

I nod my head. “Cool, cool.”

“What about you?” He turns his head, meeting my gaze for half a second.

“What about me?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?

“Nope.” My heart hammers at his curiosity. More than likely, he’s just trying to be polite and continue the conversation, but try telling that to the organ in my chest with a mind of its own.

“Boyfriend?”

This makes me laugh. Peering over at him subtly, he’s white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Nah, no boyfriend either. I’m a free agent.”

“Probably smart at your age, especially with school.”

We fall into thoughtful silence after that. So many more questions sit at the tip of my tongue, begging to be asked, but this—the silence, with him—is comfortable. Asking anything else risks shattering that. Eventually, I fall asleep. He wakes me once we arrive at the Hyatt Regency, where we’re staying for the weekend. We check in and head up to our rooms. We’re on the fifth floor, our rooms side by side.

Stone opens his door, shifting his attention to me before entering. With a hand rubbing the back of his neck, he clears his throat. “If you want to relax or shower or, uh, do whatever, we can meet for dinner around six?”

He’s acting weird. Tense. Although, given I’m still half-asleep, I could be imagining it. It’s Stone. He doesn’t do weird or tense. “Sure, that works.”

Chapter Four

Stone Philips

This was a bad idea.

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