IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(81)

“Thank you,” he said, his voice muffled by my shoulder. He pulled his head back and looked up at me. “For everything. What you said up there… I don’t even know what to say.”

Oh. Right. He was simply showing his gratitude for my work. My speech. That didn’t mean he was there to suddenly profess his forgiveness and undying love to me. I felt like an idiot for falling right into silly assumptions. For believing that what I’d done was enough to convince him I was worthy of his heart.

I stepped back and cleared my throat. “Uh, no problem. It’s… it’s the least I could do for, ah… you and your mom after everything that’s… happened.”

Conor’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. His arms still hung in the air as if he’d been surprised by my sudden departure from them. He dropped them to his sides. And then crossed them over his chest, his shoulders curling slightly. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Well. Thanks. Again.”

The moment went from perfection to awkward in two seconds. And all I could think was that this might be my last chance to see him, to speak to him in person, and I was fucking it up.

Conor looked at his feet. “I should probably… go man the booth. So you can… take off, I guess. Head back home to New York.”

My back teeth ground together. If he thought I was leaving him here to work the booth alone, he was mistaken. I started to reach for his arm when a small voice behind me chirped, “Um, excuse me? Sir? Supreme Leader Ren?”

I turned to find a young kid with his grandfather. He looked up at me expectantly. “Could I, uh, get a picture taken with you?”

I blinked in surprise, not sure how to respond. Thankfully Conor swooped in. “Sure, I’ll take it.”

Next thing I knew, the kid had his arm thrown around my waist and stood beaming next to me. Conor snapped the picture and handed the kid back his phone. Before I could blink, another group of fans had taken his place, this one a gaggle of older teens. A small crowd formed a line behind them, all wanting a photograph with me for some reason. I could have sworn one young woman muttered, “Lord, he’s so hot,” as she waited her turn.

I felt myself turning red as I tried pulling my cape closed around my chest. No dice. Mika, the cosplay mistress, had made it so it only appeared voluminous. In reality, it forced me to appear topless everywhere I went.

Conor stepped in as the photographer, taking their phones and snapping the pics. He seemed to revel in the job, his glee becoming more apparent as my discomfort grew. By the time we were done, my cheeks burned from smiling and Conor’s eyes were wet with tears from laughing.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head, giggling. “Seeing you participating in cosplay and getting mobbed by fans ogling your hot bod is quite the treat. By the way, what’s with the Kylo Ren ensemble? You never mentioned being a Star Wars fan.”

I blinked at him. “It was required.”

He frowned. “By whom?”

“You. I thought?” A sneaking suspicion began gathering steam in my head. I was going to kill James. Fucking kill him.

Conor threw his head back and howled. “Oh my god he didn’t.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Who do you usually dress as at these things?”

“No one. I usually wear geeky T-shirts and jeans. At most, I might add a cape or mask.”

“I’m going to murder James in his bed,” I growled. “Slowly.”

Conor stopped laughing long enough to look at me with glittering eyes. He reached out a hand to my bare chest and ran it up and across my shoulder, pushing the cape even more out of the way. His touch made me both hard and tender at the same time.

His pupils had grown dark and wide. I could see his pulse fluttering at the base of his neck. I wanted to press my mouth against it, feel his heartbeat through my lips.

“You look amazing,” Conor said in a low voice. “I’d pay big money to see this. I might even need to get my picture taken with you.”

I reached a hand out to grasp his hip, more to keep my trembling knees from buckling than anything else. Conor’s hand continued moving across my bare skin. The sound of the crowd outside the room dimmed to the background while every breath Conor took grew louder.

I reached a hand up to his face but hesitated, afraid that if I touched him I would never let go.

Afraid he might leave me again and it would destroy me. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

I couldn’t resist. I smoothed a wayward piece of hair at his temple. Conor’s eyes closed briefly at the touch.

My brain warred with itself. I wanted to take control of the situation, to throw Conor over my shoulder and carry him out of here. Up to my room. Where I would throw him on the bed and—

I swallowed a groan, trying to rein in my thoughts before they ran too far.

Conor cleared his throat. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Thank god. “Yes.” My voice came out in a rush, the breath I’d been holding finally releasing.

Standing so close to Conor, I could see how worn he looked around the edges. His cheeks seemed sharper than the last time I’d seen him, and I reminded myself that he’d likely just gotten off another flight after spending days caring for his mom as he got her settled.

I frowned, unable to stop my protective instincts from kicking in. “Have you eaten?”