Jonah (Chicago Blaze #7) - Brenda Rothert Page 0,33

stage and sings a Dolly Parton song. The crowd loves every note, clapping enthusiastically at the end. The next song is a parody performance of “Low Places” that leaves everyone in stitches.

Some performances are better than others. It’s clear that country western isn’t the first choice for some of them, or even the second. But every one of them has fun. I think I smile through the entire show, the confidence and fun-loving mood of the queens contagious.

One guy yells out a shitty comment during a performance, and the crowd boos until he’s kicked out of the club. Dee blows the crowd away by line dancing very well in those high heeled boots, and another queen sits on a stool and sings an original folk song that leaves the crowd silently mesmerized until the end, when they give a standing ovation.

I stick to water and bar food, but Kai is getting loopy from all the martinis he’s been drinking. When the performance is over, I pay our check and grab my bag, saying, “I’ll call for a ride.”

“I’m going out,” Kai says, slurring the words.

I hold back the comment I want to make about him being too drunk, not wanting to offend him.

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” I ask instead.

“I’m up to it.” He pops his lips after each word, and I shake my head.

“Kai, I can’t go out. Let’s go home and watch a movie.”

He stops our waitress and asks for another drink. She gives me an inquiring look and I shake my head. Kai doesn’t even notice.

“Please come home with me,” I say. “I’ll worry about you if you don’t. And we have all your supplies to get home.”

“Fuck it,” he says, waving a hand. “I don’t need any of that stuff. I do need a night of fun!”

“Suit yourself,” I say. “But call me if you need me, okay?”

“I won’t need you. Bye, my little square roomie!”

While I wait for my Uber to pull up outside, I post a photo of me, Kai and all the queens taken backstage before the show on my Renee Carlisle IG. Kai told me to embellish and say “we” helped the queens get prepped for the night, when really it was all him. I was nothing but an errand girl. It does add cred to the IG account of my undercover identity, though.

This is the first night in a while that I haven’t been either out with Jonah or hanging at home with Kai because Jonah was on the road. It was surprisingly fun. The more I get to know Chicago and its people, the more I like it.

I have the sense that Jonah needs some space. He’s been spending all his off nights with me, and I never considered him being tired of it until I woke up in his place alone the other day. He has to act like a man falling hard for me, when in reality he’s given up most of his free time to fake date me for the Shields case.

The media scrutiny on him is intense. Photographers follow him everywhere, and in interviews he’s asked about me before hockey, every single time. He didn’t ask for any of this, but he never complains. When the news hits that he’s still eligible, and that he was helping bring down a child predator, Jonah may need security guards to fight off the women trying to get with him.

Thinking about it sparks a little flare of jealousy as I slide into my Uber. I showed the queens that picture of Jonah because I’m proud he’s my boyfriend. At least, I would be, if he actually was. Jonah’s a good man, and he’s a lot more than his looks. I don’t know why my first impression of him as pretty was so off.

I’m tired. I let myself into the apartment, lock up behind me and fall onto the couch, not bothering to change clothes or take off my makeup.

When I wake up, I’m groggy. I go to the kitchen for water and look at the clock on the stove—4:13 a.m. But I never heard Kai come in.

I ignore the water and go to his room to check his bed. Still perfectly made, with his menagerie of decorative pillows in place.

Maybe he texted to tell me he’s staying with someone. I go check my phone, but there are no messages. I text him to ask if he’s okay.

I get my water and sit down on the couch to