The lights from the meeting room shoot in through the small interstices, one aligning perfectly with Andrew’s eyes.

  I have to take a deep breath, but it makes it all worse because of his scent tingling my nose. “Are you a claustrophobe?” he queries, and I laugh, sitting down where I can in the small space we have. My knee bumps his legs as he does the same.

  “I might become one after this.”

  “We are not going to kiss, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “Wasn’t planning on kissing you.”

  He chuckles. He could easily reach me with just a stretch of his arm. “You drank a lot tonight.” He states.

  “What is it with me drinking?” I remember his attitude at the bar, how protective he became.

  He shrugs. I can barely see his movements. “I don’t like it.”

  “Drinking or me drinking?”

  “Both.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Why are you always so defensive? Can’t I be nice to you? For no reason?”

  “There’s always a reason.”

  My discussion with Isabella comes back to mind. Offering his help was only a way to have me close, to find an opening through my shell, to let my guard down.

  He sighs and moans. “I should have known this would be the punishment.”

  “Because you’re a mentalist?”

  My voice is coated with sarcasm, yet he answers with detachment and calm. Which is even more unnerving. “Because Emily’s a weasel and a gossip. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” He boasts.

  The alcohol shackles me to the room. The silence, the muffled sounds from the exterior, the soft light, all should help me return to a normal state. But not with him in there as well. “She even found my secret for this stupid game.”

  “That you don’t really know what synergology is about?”

  He laughs. “No. That I went to Lush&Lust.”

  I freeze. And instantly look toward him. That’s his? When? How? Why?

  It’s not the typical strip club with a dance floor and ladies grinding on people’s thighs for a song or two, depending on how much green is meticulously slid in their pant(ie)s. It’s… obscene. Barely concealed under that name.

  The ones that go there, they know what they’re searching for. I surely did. My only time around a man. With definitely too many people watching to feel legal.

  “Really?” I restrain myself from asking questions.

  “Yes. Just once. I was younger. Experimenting.” He says fast, as if he's trying to justify himself. Sounds a lot like my own reasons back then. “You look distraught.” He adds, and I find his eyes again.

  “Don’t start.”

  “What?”

  “Analyzing.”

  “I’m not,” he laughs, lifting his hand in the air, to prove that he's telling the truth. “I’m just looking at you.”

  And that would be too much already.

  His eyes are piercing, warm, welcoming in a way I haven’t asked them to be.

  “Have you talked to Isabella lately?”

  What? Where is this coming from? Bringing the subject himself sounds suspicious. But would he be this straightforward if he had something to hide? What kind of idiot would conspire against someone in the shadows and be speaking so—

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  “Your face is very entertaining.” He interrupts my relentless rambling with an amused tone. My hands wipe the sweat out of my forehead. “You don’t even need to talk, it’s so obvious watching you.”

  “That’s why I’ve asked you to stop analyzing.” His scent keeps burning my nostrils, and my body temperature is dangerously increasing. It’s been how many minutes now? Aren’t we done?

  “Did she tell you anything new?”

  “No. Of course not. Why would there be anything new in my situation?” I spit. I’m mad at myself for letting this wound gangrene to the point of no return. Mad at the rest of the team for not supporting me. But how could I even ask for support when I’ve been acting like a ghost for the past four years? “Do you know something I should be warned about?”

  It takes a few seconds for him to answer. He shuffles against me, his feet grazing my thigh. “I’m not sure how much you already know.”

  Why would he say something like that? He’s very close, and the room feels impossibly smaller than when we entered. I can’t breathe or think. My heartbeat rises. “What does that mean?”

  “You know what, I shouldn’t be the one telling you. If she didn’t come forward on this, then—”

  “Andrew.”

  It’s a growl. That escaped my throat. I didn’t want to sound whiny and pleading, but instead, I’ve changed into an animal. He’s not alarmed, nor scared, but rather… worried? “Alexej, you don’t look good.”

  He’s leaning forward, pushing away some clothes, the sound of the hangers banging against each other deafening to my ears. With the back of his hand, he touches my forehead, and the contact alone makes me shiver. I feel wrong. His smell, his eyes, his mouth, his expression, his posture, everything is suddenly too much, and I need him far away. I need out. “You’re way too hot, are you alright?”

  “I’m going to—”

  The door gets opened, and I get up at the same time, rushing to the toilets. They are right beside the entrance and right in front of everyone, but I couldn’t care less. I don’t even close the door and hurl my guts, the fresh air of the outside already calming my senses.

  I take one breath, two, three more. My arms locked against the ceramic, and my knees on the floor barely support me.

  “Alex.” He calls, my name floating flawlessly out of his mouth like we’ve been friends for a decade. He kneels next to me, pushing the strands of sticky hair out of my eyes.

  He reaches under my chin, and I understand a second too late that he’s unbuttoning my Henley.

  “What happened?” Emily’s voice rises behind us, and this is just my personal nightmare. I had to finish with my head buried in the toilet for my first-ever party with my colleagues. Great. Now they won’t be inviting me any time soon, that’s for sure. Exactly what I wanted. Right?

  “You’re that bad at kissing?” Sarah jokes, but nobody really follows. And I swear to myself that this is my last public apparition.

  “He drank too much,” Andrew explains with a tone that leaves no room for discussion. “Do you want water?” he continues, as if there’s no one else, and stands up before I even get the chance to respond. I don’t want to move. I can’t.

  When he comes back and stretches the cold glass into my hands, I whisper to him. “I’ll go home.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  I almost choke on water. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not taking the wheel.”

  This again. With the last sip of the water, I rinse my mouth and flush the toilet. The mirror next to the sink shows a pitiful picture. “You won’t stop me.”

  The others let me pass through with leering eyes and whispers. I grab my stuff and search for my car keys inside, but they aren’t there.

  Caroline slides them into Andrew’s hand and offers me a sad smile.

  I’m tired. And stressed. And they are starting to make me mad.

  As if they could immediately tell, they both approach so the others can’t hear. Caroline drops her hand on my shoulder. “Just follow Andrew. He lives not too far away. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  I can’t fight. I’m drenched. I need to sleep. My head is definitely spinning. And my body already craves another full glass of cold water. “Okay,” I sigh.

  We start walking toward the double front doors, leaving the party in silence. When Andrew checks on me over his shoulder, and I welcome him with a death stare, he still smiles. “Can you walk or should I lift you?”

  “You couldn’t. And don’t touch me.”

  “What a feisty creature you are.” He’s received with a grunt. Which amuses him. “Like a feisty cat. Should I call you kitty?”

  “You’re taking advantage of the situation. Be careful. I have a very good memory.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Keep calling me kitty, and you’ll find out.”

  His sincere laugh resonates inside my head and ribcage. “It is funny observing you without all that armor you cover yourself with.” He adds like he’s in my head.

  “Just drive me home, Andrew.” He continues along the pavement, his hands buried inside his pockets.

  “I can’t drive.”

  What?

  “I can’t drive,” he repeats. Did I speak out loud? “I’m not comfortable learning. Probably because my father died behind the wheel because of a drunk driver.”

  I almost stop walking. That’s why he doesn’t drink. And doesn’t like for others to drink too much. He’s afraid I would harm myself or others.

  I know what it is to lose someone close. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  His sad smile finds the corners of his eyes. Warm chocolate eyes against earthy tints. He turns around and buttons my shirt to the top.

  “Thank you. Now, be good and let me take care of you.”