“Did she tell you something I should know?” He remembered that night, how it had felt like he’d interrupted something when he’d found them outside the club together.
“After she finished hyperventilating from overstimulation, yeah. She told me something,” Quan said.
“She was hyperventilating?” he heard himself ask. His stomach dropped, and coldness prickled over him. What kind of ass was he that he hadn’t known and hadn’t been there for her? He should have been the one. Not Quan.
“Too many people, Michael. Too much noise, too many flashing lights. You shouldn’t have taken her there.”
Everything clicked together then. “She’s autistic.”
“You disappointed?” Quan asked with a tilt of his head.
“No.” The word came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat before he continued. “But I wish she’d told me.” Why hadn’t she told him? And why had she let him pressure her into going to the club? She must have known what it would do to her.
And last night. Shit, it must have been awful. The TV blasting, the piano, his sisters shouting, everything new . . .
“She just wants you to like her.”
The words punched Michael in the stomach. He did like her, and knowing this didn’t impact that at all. She was still the same person. Except he understood her better now. At least, on a conscious level, he did.
Subconsciously, he felt like he’d always known. Because he’d grown up with Khai, he knew how to interact with her. He didn’t even have to think about it. That had to be why she could relax with him when she couldn’t with others . . .
A strange charged sensation buzzed through him, tensing his muscles and putting his hairs on end. Maybe he didn’t have to end their arrangement.
Maybe accepting her proposal wasn’t taking advantage of her. Because she was autistic, maybe she really could use a practice relationship before she entered a real one. Maybe he was the perfect one for her to practice with. Maybe he could help her for real.
He didn’t have to take the entire fifty grand. Come to think of it, he didn’t have to take any of it. He had credit cards. He could make up the difference next month. By helping her without financial motivation, he’d finally prove he wasn’t his dad.
He yanked his gear off and tossed it on the floor in a careless heap. “Put that away for me, will you? I have to go.”
* * *
• • •
Stella’s phone beeped, dragging her out from the world of her data. Her office materialized, her desk, the computer screens with the command prompt and all the clever code she’d written, her windows, the darkness beyond them.
The alert on her phone said, “Dinnertime.”
She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a protein bar. Her mother would be angry if she saw Stella eating one of these for dinner, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to work.
Absently chewing on the cardboard-y chocolate mixture, she made small adjustments and refinements in her algorithm. It was good. Maybe some of her best work.
Her phone buzzed, and the screen lit with a text message from Michael.
Is that your office on the 3rd floor with the lights on at 6PM on a Saturday?
She dropped her protein bar and stood up to look out the window. A familiar form leaned against a lamppost in the parking lot. She immediately dodged out of view, too humiliated to be seen.
Her phone buzzed with another message. Come down. We need to talk.
She sank back into her chair. This was it. He’d come to end it. Her thumbs shook as she composed a short response. Just tell me via text message.
I want to talk to you in person.
She threw her phone onto her desk and crossed her arms. She was tired and embarrassed. She didn’t need to witness the dissolution of their arrangement in person. Or were there additional things he wanted to talk to her about? More things she’d done wrong?
Maybe she shouldn’t have apologized to his mom? Had that been creepy and intrusive? Why couldn’t she get anything right?
She ran her hands over her hair and attempted to slow her breathing. Did she have to apologize for apologizing?
The phone buzzed yet again, and she flipped it over with the tip of a trembling finger so she could read it.
I’m going to stay out here until you come down.
She rubbed at her temple. Her head throbbed, and sweat glued her clothes to her body. She needed to go home and shower.
Might as well get this over with.
She tossed her once-bitten protein bar into the trash, saved her work, and powered down her computer. Tossing her purse over her shoulder, she shut the lights off and left the room.
The empty halls and low-lit cubicles usually comforted her. Tonight, they made her lonely and sad. As she strode to the elevator, she wondered how long it would be before this feeling went away. A week? A month? She wished everything could go back to normal—like before she’d met Michael. These highs and lows in emotion were exhausting.
The click of her heels on marble echoed through the reception area, and she made herself push the front doors open and walk outside.
Michael shoved away from the lamppost and dug his hands into his pockets, looking like his usual gorgeous self in the glow of the streetlights. “Hi, Stella.”
“Hi, Michael.” Her chest tightened and began aching. She drummed her fingers against her thighs until she caught him watching and fisted her hands.
“My mom told me you stopped by the shop.”
That was it. She’d really done the wrong thing. Her heart plummeted, and her face threatened to crumple. She schooled her features into place. “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have done that. I couldn’t bear knowing I’d hurt her. I never mean to hurt people, but I do it all the time. I’m working on fixing this, but it’s so complicated, and I just—I just—I just . . .”
He stepped toward her until they were separated by an arm’s length. “What are you talking about?”
She stared down at her shoes. She was so tired. When would this be over so she could go home and sleep? “You’re angry. Because I went to see your mom. That’s intrusive.”
“I’m not, actually.”
She lifted her gaze and found him watching her with sad eyes. “Then . . . I don’t understand.”
“As your practice boyfriend, shouldn’t I be here? It’s getting late.”
She took a surprised breath. “After everything I said at your mom’s, you still want to have a practice relationship with me?”
“Yeah. Things are complicated with my family, and I should have prepped you ahead of time. I’m sorry I didn’t think to do that.”
When he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, she was too stunned to speak. He was apologizing to her?
“Are you okay? You look like you’re going to pass out.”
She tensed at his nearness, unsure what to do. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t remem—oh, I ate something right before you texted.”
“What was it?”
She was not telling him. He’d probably act like her mother and chastise her. That was the last thing she needed right now.
He brushed his fingers along her jaw before clasping her face in his palm and tipping her head back. A butterfly-light kiss teased her lips. “You smell like chocolate. Did you have candy for dinner, Stella?”
“Not candy. A protein bar. There are vitamins and stuff in it.”
“You’re coming with me. Don’t argue. I’m going to feed you.” He walked her to her car, which was parked not far away, and by that time, she was simply too tired to protest.
The doors unlocked when they sensed the key fob in her purse, and she sat in the passenger seat. She fumbled for the seat belt, but he caught it and buckled her in with sure movements. He got in on the other side and pulled out of the parking lot.
The motion of the car lulled Stella into a drowsy half slumber, and it was several minutes before she realized he’d left downtown and headed across the freeway. “Where are we going?”
“Back to my mom’s.”
A surge of adrenaline burned the sleepiness out of Stella’s head, and she sat up in her seat, wide awake. “What? Why?”