Free In the Fire by Eileen Griffin, Nikka Michaels Page B

this time.
    “How much do you remember?” He watched me warily as he picked up a cup from a room service cart.
    “I remember drinking...a lot. And your...speech. And flipping your boyfriend off. That was awesome.”
    Blurry flashes of Lassiter I couldn’t quite make sense of flooded my mind. I swallowed hard.
    Shit.
What had I done? Making myself vulnerable to the one person who had the power to break me again hadn’t been in the plan.
    I cleared my throat and tried to pull myself together until I remembered my missing date. “Where’s Lily?”
    “Your girlfriend?”
    “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a girl who’s a friend.”
    He rolled his eyes. “Trevor is my manager and friend. Just my friend.”
    “From the look of things last night, I’m sure Trevor would be first in line for the J Train.”
    “Shit, Ethan. How many times do I have to tell you Trevor is a friend? I’m sure I could talk his latest flavor of the month into vouching for him.” He avoided looking at me and instead took a huge gulp from his mug. “This is way too much to discuss until we’ve both had coffee.”
    “Just calling it like I see it. If you didn’t want to know my opinion, you shouldn’t have brought it up.”
    “You’re right, which like last night, I immediately regret.”
    I hid my wince at his words. Even though I regretted last night, too, it still hurt to hear Lassiter say it. I tried to keep the petulance out of my voice as I asked, “You regret what?”
    He let out a deep breath, his tired blue eyes meeting mine. “I just think...there’s a lot we should talk about. Eight years is a long time.”
    As his eyes raked over my face, I felt my body respond against my will and more flashes of last night came roaring back. The confusion I’d felt when I had heard his speech. The way I’d instinctively responded when he had pulled me close onstage and congratulated me. I remembered my anger when Trustfund had tried to get him to leave, even though I had tried to push him away myself. I saw us entering his hotel room and Jamie getting pissed and shoving me in the cold shower, which I had deserved. I remembered the indescribable warmth in my chest when Jamie had toweled me off and helped me into my clothes. The way he’d responded when I’d kissed him, much like he had over eight years earlier.
    My extremely hungover brain found it difficult to reconcile the kind Jamie who’d given a speech that had put a lump in my throat with the Jamie who’d been cold and unfeeling. The one who’d professed how much he’d loved me before with the one who’d dumped me via an impersonal message. The Jamie who’d touched me like the world was ending with this wary one who stared at me like I was a stranger.
    I looked away, too confused and raw to handle the unexpected complications. I had planned to come to New York to get the award for the restaurant and book it back to Seattle. I wasn’t ready for this. It left me feeling exposed and defenseless. Stalling for time, I crossed my arms over my chest. “So, talk.”
    He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and checked the time. “Unfortunately I can’t right now. I’ve got a TV interview.” He looked down at his phone again, this time his words tentative. “But we could catch up afterward if you want.”
    Of course. A TV interview.
    His expression was so hopeful I didn’t have the heart to tell him no. This was a bad idea, but I knew I would regret it if I walked away again. The confused muddle of feelings made it difficult to distance myself, but I was tired of running from a ghost. It would give me
closure
, according to Claire’s psychobabble. I hated how after eight years he still could get to me like this even though he had chosen Trustfund and New York over me.
    “Okay, but one question? Where’s my tux?”
    * * *
    As I followed Jamie, tugging at the collar of his borrowed shirt, I wished he’d had another pair of sunglasses to hide my eyes from the camera