Page 81 of A Crazy Kind of Love
He kissed me on the forehead before he joined me with his own plate. “You once told me you hadn’t had pancakes in fifteen years.”
As we ate the decadent and only slightly burned food he’d created (mostly) with his own hands, we had the most wonderfully banal conversation.
I took a bite and moaned with pleasure, and then asked, “What are you going to do today?”
“I plan to burn off this breakfast in my gym, then work on a song I’m writing. Aaaaaaand then I’m going to take a long afternoon nap.” He stretched as if he was going to go to bed the second I left.
I got the impression he threw in the mention of a nap to keep me from interrogating him about the song, so I asked, “What about this song?” His cheeks rose in the first signs of an underground smile, and I knew he was up to something.
Once we were done eating, he sent me off to work—with my snack box and a kiss.
As the driver whisked me away from Micah’s form, receding on the sidewalk, I took stock of my incredible luck—like I’d won the lottery without ever buying a ticket. Could there be a better person in the entire world than Micah? I didn’t think so.
I entered the office for the first time in nearly a week, feeling like I’d been on vacation. I hadn’t seen Zion since Saturday. He gave me a funny look when I passed him, so I grabbed him by the elbow. “I need coffee. Come with me.”
We walked together up to Washington Square Park. He peppered me with questions about Micah all the way, and I told him about driving out to New Jersey and about Pratosh. By the time we got into the park, Zion had all but named our children.
We settled on a park bench to watch people walk their dogs. Zion bumped my shoulder. “Sounds like you’re really happy. Micah’s quite the catch, huh?”
“Yeah, he is. But what’s going on with you and Adrianna?”
He stretched his arms across the back of the bench, one foot crossed over his knee, pleased, downright cocky. “All right. So you know how she followed me on Twitter?”
“Yeah.”
“We started flirting. A lot. It veered off into a verynotgray, verynoteuphemistic, very, very hot conversation. She said she wanted to meet up with me.”
“When was this?”
“Last Friday. I got nervous though and told her the truth. I explained that I’d never been with a woman before, but that I was willing to give it a try. I wanted her to be prepared in case there was an epic failure to connect.”
“So what happened?”
“Friday night, I agreed to meet her at a bar. When she showed, I didn’t even recognize her at first. You’ve seen her now. She changes like a chameleon. We found one of those round booths where we could talk. I scooted beside her, and next thing I knew, she kissed me.”
I elbowed him. “How was it?”
His eyelashes fluttered. “If she’d been dressed in her pop diva magnificence, it would have made me question my identity. But as it was, it felt right. It felt natural. And I knew then.”
“That she’s . . . ?”
“One hundred percent boy.”
“I knew it!” I’d seen her perform her reverse Madame Butterfly in our apartment, so I wasn’t surprised, but still. I felt a stab of remorse for my curiosity. “Oh, my Lord, Zion. I’m sorry for being so nosy. It’s none of my business.”
“Have you ever noticed you only ask the invasive questions when you have no intention of publicizing them? You’re the worst reporter.”
I knocked him with my shoulder. “Takes one to know one.” Zion was sitting on top of a powder keg.
“Ha, yeah. I reckon I’m a spectacular failure in this regard.”
The fact that two tabloid reporters knew her secret raised an important question. “How does that work, exactly? She’s a very public figure.”
He shrugged. “I mean, there have always been rumors, but I figured if they were at all true, she would have gotten caught a long time ago. Can you imagine how many people have to work with her on wardrobe for a single concert?”
“And you have no desire to make a fortune off this information?”
“No way. She’s savvy. She’s prepared for the story to come out eventually. And she’ll share it herself when the time is right. But it would disrupt her career and totally kill her ability to drop into public incognito. And that would kill my chances of having a semi-normal relationship with her. So no. I won’t print this story. And I’m trusting you won’t either.”
