But Ineedspace to figure out if that’s a good idea.
“Okay,” I say stiffly. “Thank you.”
“You betcha.”
I push into the lobby as a long grumble of thunder rattles the glass in the door and walk straight into a wall of cold air that hits my wet clothing and skin with enough force to instantly pucker my nipples and make goosebumps erupt over every inch of my skin.
Duncan follows but stops beside the door.
I growl softly to myself.
This is stupid.
Him hanging out in the lobby is ridiculous.
My neighbors will see him.
And I can be a goddamn adult and work out my issues on my own.
“Will youpleasecome up to my apartment until this passes?” I mutter as I jam the elevator up button with my finger.
I’m not looking at him.
But he’s watching me. The hairs standing up on the back of my neck tell me so.
There’s a soft ding in the lobby with every floor that the elevator drops on its way to pick me up. As the number clicks down to three, then two, then one, Duncan steps beside me.
“You’re sure?”
“Donotdo my dishes.”
“I won’t touch your dishes.”
“I probably have some T-shirts and sweatpants that are big enough for you. So you can get dry.”
“Appreciate it. I’ll bring them back clean.”
“They might be pink.”
“Then I might not bring them back. I don’t have much pink in my wardrobe yet.”
The elevator doors open, and we step onto it. I don’t look at him. I don’t think he’s looking at me.
He doesn’t try to hit the button to my floor, so I take care of it myself.
The doors close, and the elevator begins its ascent.
“I’m not trying to be an asshole,” I mutter.
“I don’t think you’re an asshole. I think?—”
The elevator jerks. I reach out with both arms to steady myself, banging into Duncan with my good arm and smacking my bad arm against the wall as everything plunges into pitch blackness.
Shit.
Goddammit.
Don’t ride elevators in thunderstorms.
