Undersold by B. B. Hamel Page A

story. He was evasive whenever I asked him anything directly, and he steered the conversation toward me whenever possible. When our food arrived, I realized I had spent most of the night talking about myself.
    “This must be really boring,” I said. I took a bite of my fish and it was delicious.
    “This isn’t boring at all,” he said. He ate a bite of his pasta and sipped his wine. He kept looking toward the door.
    “I’d love to hear about your family,” I said.
    “There’s not much to hear.”
    “Come on, what was your dad like?”
    He gave me a serious look. It surprised me, the sudden intensity. “Like I said, there’s not much to say.”
    We started eating in silence. He picked at his food, and drank another glass of wine. There was a tension sitting over the table that I didn’t understand, and I was struggling. Did I offend him by asking a question about his family? I knew he needed privacy, and he had mentioned something about rules. Had I just broken one?
    “Is something wrong?” I asked, finally breaking the tension. “You’ve been distracted all night.”
    He let out a deep sigh. “You’re right. I apologize.”
    “What’s going on?”
    He paused. “I like being near you, I hope you understand that.”
    I felt my stomach do flips.
    “I like it, too.”
    “It’s just that, I don’t think I can do this.” His face was serious but pleading, and his flint colored eyes looked sad in a way I couldn’t understand.
    I felt my face drop. Was he breaking up with me? I didn’t even realize we were officially together. The knot of self-doubt twisted itself in my chest and I realized he was sick of me already. Too average, not sexy, not fun. He got his taste and didn’t like it enough to stick around.
    “Okay, I get it,” I said quietly, staring down at my food.
    “Wait, you misunderstand.”
    I looked up, surprised. “What do you mean? You’re done with me. I get it.”
    “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m being unclear. What I mean is, I can’t do this .” He gestured to the restaurant.
    “You mean, Italian food?” I didn’t know what he meant, and tried a lame joke instead.
    He laughed a little. “No, I mean, being out in public. I know this is going to sound horrible, but I can’t do a public romance. I’m sitting here imagining paparazzi getting a picture of the two of us, and what that might do to your life. I can’t get that image out of my head. You, hounded by cameras, the strain it would put on your life.”
    I could feel the hope coming back inside of me. That made sense, given everything. But more than that, he was talking about us as if we were an item, as if we were together.
    He kept talking. “I have rules which keep me out of the spotlight. This is the life that I chose, for a lot of reasons. But the public life isn’t one you chose, and I won’t ask you to do that.”
    “Shane, I want to keep seeing you.” His face softened as I spoke.
    “I know, and I want that too. I just don’t know how to do this. Sneaking you around won’t be fair, but I can’t risk publicity.”
    What was he hiding that so horrible? I kept thinking that, over and over, as we had this conversation. What secrets made this man?
    “We can figure it out. I understand what you’re saying, and I’m willing to figure out something that works for us,” I said.
    He shook his head sadly. “Maybe we can, or maybe we can’t. But the strain of it will be awful. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
    “I’m an adult, Shane. I can make my choices. And I’m choosing this.”
    He reached out and took my hand. The electricity between our fingers was still there, and stronger than ever.
    “I know you can,” he said softly.
    “Then let’s get out of here.”
    He shook his head again. “I need to think about this. More importantly, I need you to think about this. Really think about what it would mean to be with me. The sneaking around,