Kind of Famous - Mary Ann Marlowe Page 0,69

correct him with “temporary home” right then.

The driver stopped in front of the Japanese restaurant. Shane grabbed my bags from the trunk and carried them up the stairs. Once inside, he said, “I should probably give you this,” and handed me a bronze key. “That one’s for the door, and I’ll text you the downstairs key code so you’ll always have it.”

His trust in me was humbling really, but more evidence we needed to have a real discussion from the onset. So instead of dragging him up that spiral staircase to his inviting bed, I sat on the sofa.

“Shane, we need to talk.”

“Uh oh. Should I be worried, now?”

I planted my palms on my knees and shot him my serious face. I needed to put my people management skills to some kind of real-world use for once. “Just come here, please.”

He shuffled over, acting as though he’d been called to the principal’s office. With sagging shoulders, he finally dropped down beside me. “Okay. Do your worst.”

“Now, see, it’s that attitude that is going to make this hard.”

“Crap. You’re starting to scare me.”

I exhaled. “Don’t you worry we’re rushing into things? I met you on Monday. It’s Friday, and I’m more or less moving in with you. We didn’t even talk about it beforehand.”

He looked confused. “Did you want to stay at Jo’s? Did I push you to do something you didn’t want to?”

“No. That’s not it.” All at once, I started to laugh at how ridiculous it all was, and the words flowed out. “This shouldn’t be happening. You and I are impossible. Who’s ever heard of any serious, long-lasting relationship starting so fast? We’re flying on instinct and emotion, and we barely even know each other.”

His face brightened. “Oh, that’s all you’re worried about? I thought maybe you’d figured out you don’t really like me and want more space. Or a restraining order.”

“No. That worries me the most. What is wrong with me, Shane? How have I let this happen? I was in Indiana a week ago.”

“Lucky for me, you’re here now.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“About what? I don’t understand the problem.”

“Do you usually move this fast?”

He shook his head. “No, but I’ve never felt like this before about anyone. It’s like I’m caught in a riptide. I don’t know how to slow it down, and I don’t really want to. Do you?”

I couldn’t say I did, but the lack of caution worried me. “How are we going to know if it’s right? That we aren’t making a huge mistake?”

“We don’t know. We just live it and see.” He took my hands. “Doesn’t it feel right?”

“It feels—” I tried to find the word for what I was experiencing “—intoxicating.”

He inched closer, until his forehead pressed against mine. “Perfect.”

It should have scared the shit out of me. Maybe the reason his intensity didn’t freak me out like it had with boyfriends past was simply because I was feeling it too. We were in the same boat while the current carried us down the rapids, and as long I didn’t fall out, then I wouldn’t drown. But where was the river leading?

And what if I decided I did want out eventually?

Shane stood and held out a hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, and I was tempted to follow him anywhere, but that sense of warning hadn’t dissipated. Maybe it was too much novelty, homesickness, or just stupid hormones messing with my brain chemistry.

I decided it might help to touch base with my normal by checking in with Ash and catching up with any fan site drama before I went to sleep, so I said, “I’ve got something I need to do for a few minutes on the computer. Do you mind?”

“Oh. Of course not. I have a book to read.” Despite his words, his forehead furrowed, but then he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll be upstairs, okay?” He stood, took a step back, and added, “Waiting.” Two more steps. “Upstairs.” Another few feet. “In bed.” He made it to the stairs. “Most likely naked.”

“With a book.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t fall asleep, please.”

“Not a chance.”

He took his sweet time walking around the steps, and when his feet finally disappeared, his shirt came fluttering down. Followed by his pants. And his boxers.

God.

I closed my eyes and breathed in. I had my private messages open and was about to find out what Vencor had written.

But then Shane yelled, “You ever going to

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