Page 42 of Fight For Me

I expect that almost-smile, that amused flash in her eyes. Instead she looks away, clearly uncomfortable. “So, uh, Gershwin? You think that fits?”

“Yeah. Gershwin is a mix of everything, pretty much. He did classical, jazz, opera, Broadway.”

The awkwardness has left Alex’s face as she smiles at me. “So you’re saying he’s appropriate for a mutt, since he’s a mix of a bunch of styles.”

I point at her. “Exactly.”

She laughs, patting his head. “I love it. What about you, buddy? You feel like a George?”

He nuzzles her hand and we both laugh. “I think he approves.”

Alex meets my eyes, both of us grinning. We probably look like idiots, sitting on the kitchen floor with big goofy smiles on our faces, but I couldn’t care less. This is the best night I’ve had in a long, long time.

But then I realize belatedly that I’m staring at her mouth. And from the way her eyes widen as her grin fades, she notices too. Shit. So much for my nice night.

I stand abruptly, startling her. “Well.” I shove my free hand in my pocket, trying not to meet her eyes. “I guess I’ll turn in.”

“Oh.” She looks surprised and maybe…maybe a little disappointed? I try not to let that thought affect me. “Okay. Um. What about George?”

“He can sleep in my room. I should probably take him out though.” I’m not exactly sure how often dogs need to pee, but getting out of this condo sounds like an extremely smart move right now.

I manage to get the dog back downstairs without too much trouble, even one-handed and without a leash or collar. It’s pretty obvious that he has no plans to go anywhere, if the way he sticks close to my shin while I try to coax him to pee is any indication.

When we get back up to our unit, I’m surprised to find Alex sitting at the dining table. Instead of getting ready for bed while I was gone, she brought out what must have been the entire contents of her desk. There are files and spreadsheets spread across the wooden surface, her laptop opened in front of her.

“You’re working?” I glance at the microwave clock. After midnight. “Now?”

She shrugs, not looking at me. “I’m not tired yet. May as well get some of this done.”

“You want to spend your Friday night buried in spreadsheets?”

Irritation flashes in her eyes. “I’m starting a business, Wyatt. It requires some effort.”

“I don’t see your business partners working at midnight on a Friday.” For the first time I realize that Everly and Fox aren’t here. Jesus. I guess I was even more caught up in what we were doing—inher—than I realized. “Where are your business partners?”

“They went out to River’s bar—the place he’s bartending these days.”

“And they took the film crew with them?”

“Yup. And knowing how Everly and River get going when they’re drinking, we’re probably free from cameras for at least another few hours.”

“We should encourage them to go out more,” I mutter. I hate the way the cameras hover at the corner of every room when the crew is here.

Silence settles over us again, awkward and heavy. I know I should head to bed, but something keeps my feet glued in place. She seems tenser than she was before. For some reason, I don’t like the idea of her sitting out here working so late. Alone.

“You, uh, feeling okay?”

She looks up at me, surprised. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrug. I’m being stupid. I need to let go of this idea that I have some special insight into her feelings.

“Because you’re staying up late working while your partners are out partying.”

She scowls. “I handle the administrative stuff. That means more busy work. They’re helping the business by going out and giving the cameras something interesting to record.”

It doesn’t seem like the fairest distribution of labor to me, but what the hell do I know. “Well, I’m turning in. Enjoy your spreadsheets.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, distracted. Her focus is already on her work. “Night.”