Page 36

He rests his hand on the holster at his side. “Are you going to stick with pineapple?”
“It sounds good to me. Unless you want me to call out for Romeo.”
“Pineapple it is. Do you need to run through the list of questions again?” he asks.
I scoff. Their question ideas were unimaginative. I’ve got this thing in the bag. “Nope.” All I need to do is figure out why Liam is here. I’ll have that done before dessert.
“Great.” He grabs my arm and spins me toward the back of the van. “Are you good?”
“Not really.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m hot.”
“I know.”
My head whips in his direction, but before I can tease him about his slip of the tongue, he leans closer until his face is only a few inches from mine. “You have sweat droplets on your temples.”
My hands fly to my hairline and I pat my head. “I do not.”
“Nope, but you will. It’s a hundred and fifteen right now.”
I die a little inside.
“I have to admit, I’m a little nervous.” I’m also delaying my departure from this man, and this van with beautiful A/C. Mostly the van though.
Caleb pauses, and I feel like I’m seeing the real him. His green eyes soften and his grip on my arm loosens. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” His breath stirs a strand of my hair, causing a shiver to rush down my spine.
“My parents are dead.” The words burst from my mouth.
He swallows and nods. “I know.”
That makes sense. Of course, he ran a background check on me before involving me in all of this.
“My brother is all I have left. I don’t want him to lose anyone else.”
He frowns. “You’re worried about him, but not yourself?”
I glance down at my adorable pink heels, hoping they’ll perk up my spirit. “I’m more used to losing people. I’m better at being alone.” I lift my chin, confirming that belief to myself.
A flash of something crosses his expression. It makes me wonder if he knows something about loss. Or is it because he’s all alone too? He’s in an occupation that requires secrecy. And it’s hard to form a real relationship based on lies. I know.
“Are your parents alive?” I ask, then immediately regret it. No one asks, ‘Are your parents alive?’ No one except me.
He presses his lips into a firm line. “Not the parent that matters.”
“Which parent is that?”
“My mom.” He clears his throat.
A familiar ache forms in my chest. “And your dad?”
“Is not worthy of discussion.”
Now I feel bad for mentioning his daddy issues. Before I can ask any more inappropriate questions, he squeezes my wrist where he still holds it.
“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispers, his rough voice doing a miraculous job of comforting me.