Escaping Reality

I’ve barely spoken the lie when the cell
    phone begins a mocking ring from inside the box. Jared arches a brow and I
    quickly say, “Late to a dinner thing. I should run.”
    “So you have friends here already?”
    I avoid a lie I might have to remember later and shrug. “I guess the
    t-shirt and heels were an ice-breaker. I’m going to head out. Goodnight,
    Jared.”
    “Goodnight, Amy.”
    There is a softer quality to his voice I now think I’ve heard before. I
    have no idea why, but something about his tone strikes a memory and a
    chill slides up and down my spine. Spots begin to form in front of my eyes,
    and oh no. No. No. No. Let it stop now. Please let this not be happening.
    But it’s too late. The pinching sensation in my forehead I know all too well,
    but haven’t felt in years, begins to form. I sway and Jared grabs my arm.
    Reflexively, my hand goes to his chest.
    “Whoa,” he murmurs. “What just happened?”
    I can’t open my eyes. I don’t even try. “Blood sugar,” I whisper,
    reverting to the excuse I’d used years before when these spells hit me. “I’m
    fine.”
    “You don’t seem fine.” He sounds worried. Worried is not good.
    Worried will get me an ambulance and attention I don’t need.
    I inhale and the air feels like lead in my lungs, but the pain is good. It
    wakes me up and brings me back. “I am.” I force my lashes open and the
    spots begin to fade. Relief washes over me. I am already past this episode.
    “Really,” I assure Jared. “ I already feel better.” Except that my hand is on
    his chest. Appalled, I jerk my hand back.
    He chuckles. “Easy. You’ll tumble over.”
    “No. I’m fine. I’m steady now.”
    He hesitates but lets my arm go. “That kind of reaction will kill a
    man’s confidence, you know.”
    I doubt seriously this man has confidence issues. “Sorry. I was just
    embarrassed.”
    “Don’t be embarrassed.” His voice is a gentle caress.
    More of that familiarity creeps into my mind and the spot in my
    forehead starts to tingle at the moment my phone starts to ring again. This
    time the sound is music to my ears, offering me a welcome escape from
    another episode and from Jared.
    Jared’s lips quirk. “You really need to ditch the box.”
    “Or get a bigger purse,” I say, sounding like a complete idiot, which
    fits perfectly with me touching a stranger’s chest. I am officially ready to get
    the heck out of here. “Thanks for the save. I’ll see you around.” I don’t wait
    for an answer. For the second time today, I take off running, only this time
    I’m running to Liam, not away from him, and that feels so much more right
    than the goodbye I have to deliver with the phone in my hand.
    In a short dash across the street, I approach the hotel in a gust of
    wind that has my dress lifting. With a gasp, I struggle to capture the skirt
    and juggle the phone. Somehow, I shove the material down and through
    the wild mass that, thanks to my new purchase, was my sleekly flat-ironed
    hair, I watch the doorman smirk and nod. Cheeks heating, I hurry past him,
    wondering if he also witnessed Liam and me tongue-dancing in front of the
    hotel earlier. This night is off to a grand start. I was right when I decided to
    change clothes. I need all the confidence I can get to survive the next
    fifteen minutes.
    Stopping inside the doorway, I spot the sign to the restaurant/bar
    directly ahead. Even here, a good twenty feet away, I can already hear the
    rumble of voices over the sound of music coming from inside the archway
    entry. I might not know Liam well, but my instincts say he will not like my
    choice of meeting location.
    As if he’s heard me, Liam exits the bar, irritation etched on his
    handsome face, and his eyes collide with mine.
    His expression softens and warms, and I watch the frustrations of
    moments before melt away, as if seeing me makes everything all right. I do
    not move to meet him, frozen in the bittersweet knowledge that seeing me
    has pleased him. He walks toward me, his jacket gone, his lean masculinity
    accented by the dark dress pants and a fitted blue shirt; he is power and
    grace, the epitome of dark good looks.
    The instant he is before me, I am captivated by his deep, blue stare,
    lost in a sea of warm, drugging waters, and I do not speak. I want to swim
    just a little longer, but too quickly, his gaze lowers to the box I am holding
    and my gut twists with the knowledge that my time is up. I hold it out to
    him.