Page 5 of Sinful Like Us
I’m rarely this flustered, and I’m breathing heavily.
Too heavily.
Thatcher stays quiet for another second, which helps ease me a little. I take a few more breaths.
He keeps his eyes on mine. “I’m working alongside Quinn, so if you need anything, you can come to either him or me.”
Thankfully he skipped over my extraneous ramblings. “Merci.” I pause. “Do you know French?”
He returns to the notes. “I’m trying to learn, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to pick up more than simple phrases.”
“It’s okay if you aren’t fluent. I don’t mind translating whatever you need.”
He nods, scanning the notes again. “Do you have a preference on who drives?”
I scoot forward a little. “That depends. Would you consider yourself a good driver?”
I swear he almost smiles. “Yeah.”
My lips rise. His one word answer carries so much confidence. “Then I’d prefer we switch off on driving.”
Thatcher nods. “Copy that.” We discuss several more of the preferences I listed out. Mostly how I react towards fans, crowds, and security at home—which is reallythe bus.
“I might grab onto your back in large crowds,” I warn him.
“That’s what I’m there for.” Thatcher looks over at me. “If there are hostile threats, I’ll need to touch you. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes.”I’m more than okay with that.I swallow a knot in my throat, trying not to pulse between my legs. I cross my ankles instead. “So…I think that’s it?”
He pockets the paper.
I rise.
He stands so much taller.
I look up, and I just realize something…I realize it out loud. “This is actually the very first time we’ve been alone together.” The air pulls deathly taut.
Thatcher hardly blinks.
My breath shallows. “I’m…” I shake my head, scrambling for more words.
“Are you alright being alone with me?” Lines crease his forehead.
I whisper, “I am.” I know it’ll happen ten times as much now that he’s on my detail. “You…make me feel very comfortable.” I open my mouth to say more, but a yawn fights its way forward, and I cough into my palm.
He nods, arms crossed, then he uncrosses them to click his mic. “Keep your eyes on the weather.” One pause. “Roger.” He stares down at me. “You should get some sleep. I think we’re good for when we push out.”
I take a few steps back towards the staircase. He watches me go, and once I reach the banister, I mime a tip of a top hat. “À la prochaine,” I tell him. “It meansuntil next time.”
His face is all hard, professional lines. Caged of emotion, but he doesn’t look away either. He nods and says, “Goodnight, Jane.”
Until next time.With our boundaries cemented and solidified and permanently set.
1
JANE COBALT
PRESENT DAY
