Too muchis what I want to say. I have a strange sense of unease rolling through me. At keeping secrets from him.
I also want to tell him that somehow, he has managed to crawl deep under my skin. Deeper than I thought possible. Definitely deeper than I ever wanted.
I can’t tell him any of that though. All I can do is smile and pretend everything is fine. “Nothing. Just been working super hard this week.”
He gives a slight hum but doesn’t push. That actually makes me more anxious. I’ve never considered myself transparent, but Zane always seems to know what I’m thinking or feeling. If he doesn’t know, he always asks. Relentless until he gets answers.
Now he’s doing nothing more than giving a slight hum. He doesn’t look concerned or quizzical. He doesn’t pry.
He leaves me to find a booth while he orders food. It’s not exactly an easy or small feat for him. Multiple people approach him for autographs and selfies which he always graciously does.
“So, boyfriend, huh?” he asks with a smirk when we start on our food.
“I didn’t mean to fucking say that,” I growl without meaning to. I don't like being called out on it no matter how I may feel. “It was a slip.”
I see a flash of anger flash through his eyes then it slips away. He goes back to eating his sandwich. An awkward silence filters through the space between us. I don’t like it because I know it’s my doing.
“Zane, I don’t mean anything by it. I just really don’t like labels. You know I like you.”
Except that I don’t just like him. What I feel for him went so much deeper than like. But I can’t tell him that. Not when I am keeping things from him.
“You like me,” he deadpans. “That’s great that you like me.”
He has said very plainly that he loves me but all I can spit out is like.
He looks dejected and hurt. I’m not used to seeing him this way. He normally banters and challenges me.
“I’m sorry, Zane,” I say dropping my head. I fight back the threat of tears because I don't want him hurt. I don't want him angry. I want to tell him how I really feel.
The truth is, even without the looming threat hanging over me, I probably still wouldn't say it. But the tension of the situation I find myself in is making everything else a little more raw and sensitive.
He drops his napkin then pushes back from the table. “It’s fine, Tori,” he stands, extending his hand to me. “Come on, let’s get you back to the shop.”
“Zane, come on,” I try to argue. “Don’t be like that.”
His face, normally so laidback and smiling, is hard as stone. Unreadable. No expression whatsoever. “I said it’s fine, Baby. Now, come on.”
I accept his hand and let him lead me back. He stops at the door of the shop without going inside. I look at him questioningly. Worriedly. “Zee?”
“I have a plane to catch, Darlin’,” he tells me. His face is still set in stone. Walls I haveneverseen in him are building faster than should be possible.
My stomach clenches tightly. It feels like all the air in my lungs has left me. I’m worried what this means. Worried I may have finally succeeded in screwing up yet another relationship. Except this time, I don’t want it to be true. I don’t want to fuck this up. I just don’t know how to stop it.
“I thought you were staying until tomorrow?” I ask him, trying my best not to let the tears that are burning the back of my eyes come forth.
“Things change.”
I can’t stop the quiver that erupts from my voice. “Zane don’t go. Please.”
He cups my cheek then moves his mouth to mine. He places a soft kiss to my lips. “I’ll be back, Baby. Maybe by then, you'll be ready to talk about whatever is going on with you.”
I want to deny that there’s anything wrong. Deny that I’ve been withholding. But I can’t. All I can do isdrop my head and let the start of tears flow.
I walk into the hotel roomI’ve booked in Chicagofor the night. It’s nothing fancy. Just a simple Holiday Inn but I quickly make my way to the shower. I need to clean up and sleep a little before tonight.
Tonight, is the fight. The first fight I’ve felt the stirring of nerves for since my actual first match. I wish I could be more confident but without knowing who my opponent is going to be, that’s next to impossible. I don’t like it. I wish I could say my head was clear and focused only on the coming match. That’s not going to happen though.
All I’ve been able to think about for two weeks is Zane. I miss him so fucking much. He hasn’t come back to New York in the last two weeks. He asked me to come see him this weekend, said he had an out-of-town function before his game on Sunday and wanted me to come. I made an excuse of having clients all weekend.
