“That’s fucking rich for you to ask,” I grumble.
He walks over to where I’m sitting, staring hard at my profile. “Riot, what happened? You were doing so well.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Too drunk.” I take a deep breath, willing the room to stop spinning. “Need coffee. You want one?”
Enzo looks at his wristwatch and shrugs. “It’s still before noon. Why not?”
I stand and walk over to the machine, attempting to fit a coffee pod into the Keurig and failing miserably. “Why do they make these things so difficult?”
Enzo chuckles. “That might be the whiskey coming back to bite you.” He turns his head, gaze catching on the crumpled pieces of notepaper lying on the ground by the bed. Before I can stop him, Enzo has the pages in his hands.
“You’ve been writing?”
With a grunt, I snatch them out of his hands, shoving them deep into my back pocket to forget about. “I was. Not anymore. Not since—” I stop, the thought of Eloise causing my throat to constrict painfully. “I’m just not in the mood anymore.”
Enzo raises a brow. “Does it have anything to do with a certain pink-haired pianist?”
At the mention of her cherry-blossom hair, a burst of pain flares in my chest, taking the air from my lungs and replacing it with wildfire.
Eloise… little muse…
I don’t realize I’ve spoken until Enzo’s face twists with sympathy. “Fuck. She really did a number on you, didn’t she?”
“Not her fault,” I murmur, that hopelessness crashing over me. “Nothing I can do about it, either. No evidence…”
Enzo tilts his head. “Evidence?”
Fuck. I said too much. Eloise… If she found out I told someone, she might hate me forever.“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“But—”
“It’s nothing, Enzo. Leave it be.”
He frowns, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I will absolutelynotleave it. You couldn’t pull this shit on me when you were eighteen, and you’re not going to start now.”
“It’s not my business to talk about.”
“Oh really? And when has that ever stopped you before?”
“It’s different this time.”
“Because it has to do with Eloise. Because you love her.”
I narrow my eyes, hating how he can see through me. “Yes.”
“And you want to help her out of her situation.”
“I didn’t say anything about that?—”
“You didn’t have to.” Enzo sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyes—normally a frighteningly icy blue—are sunken and hollow, the thin skin beneath colored a dark purple. The salt-and-pepper beard he keeps immaculately trimmed is scruffy and unkempt, and his hair is no better. For the first time since I’ve known him, Enzo looks exhausted.
“Are you okay, Enz?”
His mouth presses into a thin white line, but he doesn’t answer. “It’s been hard to sleep lately. Been thinking.”
“About?”
He shakes his head, gaze clearing. “Never mind about me. We’re talking about you and Eloise.”
