"I get these..." she takes a shaky breath. "I get cravings."
Cravings?
"For cocaine?"
She nods into my pecs.
My heart races faster. "How can I help you?"
"I don't know. No one has before. I just have to deal with it."
"What do you usually do when you get them?"
"What I'm doing now. Or pace the room or pit."
I make a mental note to ask her what 'the room' means later.
"Do you want to walk? I'll go with you."
"No." She clears her throat.
"Take your lozenge."
"What if it makes me feel worse?"
"Then spit it out."
"You and your spit," she mutters.
"Hey, I am a country boy," I tease.
She pulls her head back and arches her eyebrows. "Now you're going to claim that?"
"I think I might have misinterpreted things a little bit." I wince.
"Gee, you think?"
"Don't look so happy." I reach over and rotate the stick on the fire.
"Ugh," she moans.
"Are you going to tell me why you hate to eat snakes so much?"
"It's gross."
"My snake is seasoned and delicious, I'll have you know."
She grunts. "Doubt that."
I tuck her hair behind her ear and fixate on her face. "What's the real reason?"
"How do you know that isn't the real reason?"
I lock gazes with her and stay silent. I slide my hand under the blanket and her shirt and stroke the skin on her back.
She freezes.
I pause. "Am I making you uncomfortable, Zoe? Should I not touch you? I can stop."
Her lip shakes. "Yes. No."
"You just confused me."
"I'm sorry." She closes her eyes and turns away.
I slide my hand out.
She turns back. "I meant you make me uncomfortable. But I didn't mean you had to stop."
I slide it back up her shirt and place my lips against hers. "Is it a good or bad uncomfortable?"
She doesn't answer me and only furrows her brows.
She regrets having sex. Great.
I decide to change the subject. "Tell me why you hate snakes."
"I grew up poor. We couldn't afford food, so the men in my family hunted. If it moved, they killed it. And we couldn't afford spices, so whatever was put in front of us, no matter how disgusting, we would have to eat it."
"That must have been difficult."
"I've choked on too many snake bones, and one scraped my throat so bad one time that I couldn't sing for a week. It freaked me out, and when I refused to eat snake the next time my father caught it, I got in big trouble."
"What happened?"
"For an entire week, I had to stay out in the blueberry patches for double shifts."
"Your job was to pick berries?"
"Since I was five."
"That's hard work."
"I hated it. So I guess I'm a diva and a horrible person like you think."
I freeze. "You don't believe that, do you?"
"That I'm a diva?"
"No, you are a diva," I tease.
She smirks.
I steal a kiss, but she freezes.
She totally regrets having sex.
Way to make her uncomfortable.
"You're not a horrible person. I've never thought that, and I hope you don't."
"It's the only reason I'm here."
"Zoe, nothing you've done could ever be a reason for anything those bastards put you through."
"It is."
"How?"
She wipes her tears. "Mexico wasn't enough for me. I wanted all of Latin America to know my music."
"They should. Your music is amazing. I didn't understand why you weren't in all of Latin America sooner."
She scoffs. "I didn't stand a chance."
"What do you mean?"
"My old manager wasn't part of them."
"Who?"
"My managers I switched to. They determine what music gets released to what media and stations. The playlists, the concerts, the interviews...it's all controlled by them."
"By your managers?"
"Yes."
"For all of Latin America?"
"Yes."
"That's not possible."
"It is. The Global Leaders own them."
I cup her face. "Zoe, you need to tell me who the Global Leaders are."
"I've said too much," she whispers.
"Zoe—"
"Please. Just drop it." She clears her throat and sniffles.
There's a loud roar, and she jumps.
"Is that a lion?"
"Probably. He's far away, though."
"How do you know?"
"I just do." I grab my bag then pull out my gun and knife.
"If he's far away, why are you getting your weapons out?"
"The gun is precautionary. The knife is so I can make you a lemon, honey, ginger tea. When it's ready, you can try my snake and tell me if it's as bad as you remember."
She groans.
"Come on."
"Fine. But don't get your feelings hurt when I hate it."
"I don't think you will. I'm an excellent chef."
She slides off my lap. "Hmm. What else can you cook?"
"Nothing fancy. But I can make anything taste good."