And how could I forget the texts I receive whenever we’re apart. The rundown of his schedule and where he’ll be so that I know when to expect him. It’s thoughtful and comforting in a sense to know he’s considerate of my time.

His compliments? Of my body and our time in bed? Yeah, that’s not something I’m used to. His praise of my business and my drive to make it succeed? So vastly different from what I’m used to hearing and yet each time I do, I stand a little taller.

Jase Gizmodo is slowly helping me get my confidence back. Confidence I never knew I’d lost until the day I looked over in Josie’s and met those ice-blue eyes of his.

Am I giving him anything in return, though? Yes, he laughs a lot when he’s with me—we do have fun together. Is that all I’ll be for him when this ends? Just a fun person to pass a few months with? Maybe I should be content with that, but it’s hard not to hope that I mean more to him than a warm body at night.

So even with the bed cold beside me, I shuffle down the hall, rubbing my arms against the early morning chill, toward his voice. It’s hushed, low, almost as if he’s being polite and trying not to wake me.

I turn the corner just in time to see him at the window, shoulders hunched over, head angled down. He has a shirt halfway on, like he started to pull it down but got lost in the conversation so he forgot to pull it the rest of the way down.

I don’t know why the sight jars me, but it does. His words even more so.

“. . . I know. I’ll figure it out. I’m coming. I’ll be there in a few.”

A pause.

“Yeah, I know. Just give me some time. I’ll handle it.”

He’s talking to someone in a voice I’ve never heard before. Quiet. Earnest. Like he’s keeping a secret.

I don’t know what to think.

The words from a few nights ago echo in my head. I push people away once I sleep with them.

Keeping a secret or cheating on me . . .

I step back around the corner and tiptoe back to my room. The doubt comes with every step. Am I going to be shamed yet again? Jase getting caught cheating on me on a public stage will be painfully real.

Knock it off, Hendrix. Clearly he has a life outside of you.

That’s all this is.

But when the front door slams a minute later, I spend a ridiculous amount of time waiting for my phone to buzz. Waiting for the usual text to come through that tells me where he’ll be today.

It doesn’t come.