Heat crawls up my neck. I don’t know what to reply. “You’re a person. Not a... You deserve...”
“As far as you know, I’m a criminal.” He says it flat, matter-of-fact.
“You said you weren’t guilty.”
“I’m not.”
Simple. Direct. It’s either the truth or a very good lie, but I believe him. The problem is that I don’t know whether I believe him because he’s telling the truth or I believe him because we are a chemical match.
“Then we should talk about your defense.” I move toward my briefcase, desperate for familiar ground. “The witnesses they’ve lined up—”
“Tomorrow.”
“But—”
“You’re exhausted.” He pushes off from the counter, and I take an involuntary step back. “When’s the last time you slept? Really slept.”
I can’t remember. The suppressants make real sleep impossible.
“I’m fine.”
“Third time you’ve lied to me today.”
The doorbell saves me again. The clothes have arrived in a heap of bags. I sort through them on the coffee table, suddenly aware of how intimate this is. Choosing underwear for him. Guessing at sizes. The boxer briefs look too small now that I see them. I try not to think about that.
“Bathroom’s yours if you want to shower,” I manage.
He gathers an armful of clothes, then pauses at the hallway.
“Milo.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Then he’s gone, bathroom door clicking shut. A moment later, the shower starts.
I sink onto the couch and drop my head into my hands. He’s naked in my shower. Using my soap. My shampoo.
My phone buzzes reminding me about my prescription. I should think about going back down to the recommended two but Kellen is right here.
I swallow three.
The shower cuts off. I hold my breath, waiting. The bathroom door opens, releasing a cloud of steam that carries his scent, clean and warm and absolutely devastating.
He emerges in sweatpants and a t-shirt that pulls across his chest. Barefoot on my hardwood floors. Hair damp and finger-combed.
He looks soft. Touchable. Human.
“Better?” My voice cracks.
“Yeah.”
We stand there, ten feet apart. Only a few steps and I can have him.
“I should...” I gesture vaguely toward my bedroom.
“Milo.”
