15. Mira

15

MIRA

I'm walking behind Zane while he pushes a luggage cart down the hallway. Without his eyes on me, I can take my sweet time to appreciate the proportions of his body. There's something beautiful in the broad sweep of his shoulders and the tapering of his waist.

Are his abs as defined as they feel?

Is he tan everywhere?

I'd like to see the way his muscles flex and bunch under his skin … in the name of science, obviously.

"Your building is nicer than mine," I blurt to clear away the lusty thoughts in my head.

When we pulled into the garage, we didn't even have time to unload the first haul before a doorman was rolling a luggage cart towards us. He and Zane filled it with boxes and then we were escorted to a freight elevator.

Zane looks back over his shoulder. "You're only figuring this out now?"

"I was almost proud of you for not being a snob about my bean bag chair. I should have known better."

"I would have, but I was too surprised the walls weren't painted black and covered in cobwebs and pentagrams."

He stops in front of his apartment and I keep a safe arm's length between us, since thoughts of his abs are still floating around in the back of my head. "Watch yourself. I was serious about no more Wednesday Addams jokes."

Zane spins around suddenly, and I should have put two arm's lengths between us. Maybe three. Because he is towering over me with piercing blue eyes and a panty-melting smirk. "I'll remember your condition if you remember mine."

No sex with Zane.

Sex with Zane? Off-limits.

Doing the no pants dance with my boss? Definitely not going to happen.

Rinse and repeat those mantras as needed.

"I remember. No throwing wild parties in your apartment. Don't worry." I pat his chest and immediately regret it. What is he, Iron Man? "I'll make sure all of my parties are intimate, sophisticated affairs."

He opens his mouth, but then the door swings open behind him. A man almost as big as Zane with a buzzed head and a piece of licorice sticking out of his mouth is standing in the doorway.

He stares at us for a second before he throws his arms wide and breaks into a pitchy rendition of Three's Company.

Zane sighs and wheels the cart past him. "Daniel, this is Mira McNeil. Mira, this is Daniel Patterson. Unfortunately, you'll be seeing a lot of him."

Daniel waves Zane off and ushers me inside. "You will see a lot of me, but I promise not to sing any more really old sitcom theme songs at you."

"Yeah fucking right!" Zane's voice echoes down the hall.

"Okay, there might be some more old theme songs," Daniel admits. "My physical therapist watches a lot of TV Land and I have discovered some guilty pleasures."

There are at least a dozen questions I want to ask, almost all of them revolving around why Daniel needs a physical therapist.

Instead, I settle on: "Do you live here, too?"

A small part of me hopes he does. The more people and obstacles I can put between myself and Zane, the better.

"God, no." He shudders. "No, I'm just here on babysitting duty. Don't worry, I'm not stepping on your toes. I'm here pro bono . This is your nannying turf."

Aiden is so quiet—and so absorbed in whatever cartoon he's watching—that I didn't notice him. That and he's buried in a nest of blankets on the end of the couch. All I can see is his little face poking out between the blankets and the Spiderman water bottle he's clutching.

I should take a picture of this and show it to any CPS agent who wants to take Aiden away. Does this kid look like he's in danger to you?

Zane comes back into the living room and pushes the empty luggage cart towards Daniel. "Now that a responsible adult is here to watch the kid, you can help me unload Mira's car."

The cart barely bumps against Daniel's left leg, but he clutches his knee. He stumbles towards the door, dragging his left leg behind him and wailing like a ghoul with a bullet wound.

I reach out a hand to steady him. "Jesus! Are you okay?"

Zane rolls his eyes. "He's fine. He likes to be dramatic about his bionic peg leg."

Daniel laughs and as he walks away, I realize that what I registered as swagger is actually a limp. Daniel's left leg kicks out at a slight angle with every step. And when his pants cuff rides up, I see the metallic gleam of a prosthetic.

There's a story there, I think.

The two men leave and it's just me and Aiden. He's still sucked into the screen, so I could poke around and see which room Zane left my stuff in. But I don't want to leave the kid alone when the front door is unlocked. It wouldn't be a good look if he escaped on my first unofficial day on the job.

So I drop down on the other end of the sofa. "Whatcha watching?"

Aiden doesn't look at me, but his lips twist into a tight knot and he sinks deeper into the blankets. He heard me, but he doesn't want to answer.

Knowing that Aiden has only been living here for a few days clears a lot of things up. Of course he's timid and scared. His entire life turned upside down.

I know all too well what that's like.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," I tell him gently. "I mean, I get it. You barely know me. But that will change soon. I'm going to live here so I can help take care of you. We'll have a lot of time to get to know each other."

He sneaks a glance at me. "You live here, too?"

"I'm moving in today. That's why I have all the boxes with me."

"In my room?"

"I think I have my own room," I tell him. "I don't actually know, though. I haven't seen it yet."

Suddenly, my heart plummets into my stomach. What if Zane moved me into his own room? What if we have to share a bed?

Then I remember his conditions. No touching and no sex. Zane wouldn't be crazy enough to put us in the same bed and then try to enforce that rule...

Would he?

The front door opens again. Daniel is hanging off the side of the luggage cart, letting Zane push him through the door.

"It looks like you were a lot of help," I laugh.

"It's not my fault you pack so light," Daniel retorts, hopping off. "There was plenty of space left on the cart. No reason for both of us to walk all the way back upstairs. I offered it to Zane, but?—"

"But then you jumped on before I could answer and refused to get off."

"Handicapped perk." Daniel shrugs. "Sue me."

Zane orders lunch and Daniel spends the entire meal telling me every embarrassing thing Zane has ever done.

From the time he forgot to take his skate guards off and face-planted on the ice twice before he realized it, to the time he went to jump over the box door just as someone else opened it for him.

"He somersaulted over the door. All you could see was his legs sticking straight up in the air." The memory of it makes him laugh so hard he's crying. "Thank God for cups, because that was years and years before Aiden and Zane hit the corner of the box door balls-first."

Zane takes it all in stride, letting Daniel poke fun. But I also note the way Daniel avoids mentioning anything at all about Zane partying or doing any of the stuff the headlines I skimmed over last night hinted at.

In that way, Daniel reminds me a lot of Taylor. He gives his friends nonstop shit, but at the end of the day, he's loyal. I don't know why I care, but I'm glad Zane has someone like that in his corner.

When we're done eating, Daniel offers to keep an eye on Aiden while Zane helps me get settled. He's being a lot more sly about it than Taylor was, but I still see him wag his brows at Zane when he thinks I'm not looking.

"I'm glad to know I'm not the only one with a meddling best friend," I say when we're safely out of ear shot.

"At least my meddling best friend didn't do a pretend makeout session right in front of your face."

I groan. "You saw that?"

"It was hard not to."

"Well, I'd apologize for her bad behavior, but there's no point. She'll just do something even worse the next time you see her."

"You don't need to apologize. I'm used to Taylor."

"Oh, right. You all kind of know each other. I keep forgetting."

I never had any desire to go to any of the games Taylor invited me to. She tried repeatedly to get me in her family's box seats, promising an open bar, free food, and whichever C-list actors happened to be in town that weekend. The thought of my face flashing on the Jumbotron or pictures of me ending up in the paper somewhere kept me away.

Now, after seeing all of Zane's hockey highlights, I wouldn't mind seeing him play in person.

"I'm surprised I've never seen you before," he says. "Taylor doesn't come around the arena a lot, but I've met some of her other friends."

"Oh, I'm sure you have. I bet they were very nice to you."

He stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to face me. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Taylor never told me what a ‘puck bunny' is, but if I had to guess, her other friends would fit the description very well."

Zane arches a brow. "If you want to know if I fucked your friends, just come out and ask, Mira."

I nearly swallow my tongue. "Th-that's not w-what I'm?—"

"Every couple has the exes talk at some point," he says. "I'll tell you my number if you tell me yours."

"I do not want to know your number! And, for the love of God, don't tell me if you slept with anyone I know." I cup my hands over my ears just in case. "Those girls aren't my friends, but I still don't need that mental image in my head."

He wraps his hand around the top of the luggage cart, casually leaning against it while the rest of his attention is locked on me. "Why aren't you friends with Taylor's friends?"

I don't talk to people. I don't answer personal questions. And yet…

"I only became Taylor's friend because she was persistent," I admit. "I was a waitress at a brunch place she liked. None of her other friends were interested in befriending the help, but Taylor was nice. She scared off a table of drunk guys who were giving me a hard time."

"So, I'm not the first person to save you from a creep?"

"Far from it. I've been running from them my entire life." All at once, I realize what I said—how much I let slip. I hurry to redirect. "What about you and Daniel? How long have you known each other?"

Zane studies me, dissecting my expression in a way I really, really wish he wouldn't. Finally, he answers, "Since we were kids. We were on the same pee-wee team."

"He played hockey?"

"Since he could walk."

I frown. "I thought… Well, with his leg, I didn't know if he could?—"

"He can't. Not anymore." Zane turns back around and wheels the luggage cart to the last door on the right. Before I can ask, he explains. "It was a car accident. Four years ago. His leg was crushed. They couldn't save it."

Based on his reaction, I know there's more to this story. I want to ask, but I don't exactly have the moral high ground when it comes to being honest.

I have my secrets, so I guess I have to let Zane have his.

For now.

Zane is already stacking my boxes along the far wall of the bedroom when I walk inside. I look around the room, noting the queen-sized bed and the large window, but I'm on the hunt for personal items. Cell phone charger, a retainer, an extra-large box of extra-large condoms— something that would tell me whether this is Zane's room or not.

There's nothing. The room is as spotless as the rest of the house.

"Bathroom is through there." He tips his head to the door to his right. "The temperature can fluctuate when we're running the dishwasher, but otherwise, there's nothing you need to know."

I need to know if you and I are going to be sleeping in this bed together , I think.

I clear my throat. "That's—That's my bathroom, yeah?"

Zane keeps moving boxes and doesn't look up. "It's the ensuite."

" My ensuite?" I ask again. "This is my bedroom?"

Finally, he stops. He plants his hands on his hips and looks at me. Just looks at me. Waiting, amusement dancing in his annoyingly blue eyes.

I frown. "What's so funny?"

"Watching you try not to panic thinking about sleeping in that bed with me."

I huff out a breath. "Just tell me. Is this your room, too? Are we sharing it?"

Zane tips his head to the side and I feel like a mouse sitting in front of a lion. He might as well pluck me up by my tail and dangle me in the air in front of him. "Is that what you want, Mira?"

It doesn't matter what I want. People want all kinds of things that are terrible for them. The only thing that matters is what I need . Right now, I need my own bedroom.

"What I want is for you to answer the question."

He steps over a box, slowly making his way towards me. I want to back away, but I hold my ground. I won't let him see me retreat.

"Why would you think I'd move you into my bedroom, Mira?"

"Because we're fake dating." I shrug. "I don't know. Couples who live together typically share a bedroom. I thought we might—in case CPS comes and searches—I don't know!"

I'm suddenly aware of exactly how little I've thought all of this through. I should've gotten this arrangement in writing and notarized.

His smile is gone. His eyes look darker and I tell myself it's because of the lights in here. "Would you share a room with me if I asked?"

Yes .

The answer is on the tip of my tongue, but this feels like a trap. Whatever I say, he's going to hold me to it, and I don't know what any of this means yet.

I want to help him keep his son. I want enough money to start over somewhere far away.

But the rest of it? Zane?

I have no idea.

"Typical couples do a lot of things that you and I won't," he says finally. His hand finds the knot of my t-shirt. He tugs on it absently and his fingertips brush against the skin of my hip. "Things that we can't do. If we're smart."

I'm not breathing.

I stare at him, frozen, every nerve ending in my body fixated on his warm fingers against my skin.

Then Daniel breaks into song in the other room.

Zane pulls away and swallows hard. He leaves my room without saying anything, but I can't move for a long time. I stand here, struggling to breathe, with only one thought in my head:

I don't think I'm smart enough not to do those things.