“Hartman. Wake up.”
Lament’s face hovers in my vision. He’s still beside me on the love seat, only now the lights are back on, the documentary credits rolling. Behind him, the rest of the Sixers are standing, stretching. I rub my eyes and check my face for drool. “I fell asleep?”
“Almost immediately.” His gaze travels over me. “You snored the whole time.”
I draw an affronted breath. “I did not.”
“You did. It was absurd. I wouldn’t be surprised if they could hear you back on Skyhub.”
“That’s not true,” Vera interjects with a yawn. “You slept quite peacefully. Especially”—she bats her eyes—“after Lament tucked you in.”
It’s only now that I notice I am in fact newly in possession of a fuzzy woven quilt, which has been arranged around my sides and folded snugly at the corners. I grin at Lament, who is shooting Vera a look of magnificent scorn. “I thought you didn’t even like me,” I say.
He huffs. “I don’t.”
“Who’s the liar now?”
“You were shivering,” Lament returns in churlish tones, pulling himself smoothly off the couch. “It was distracting. And pitiful. I was taking mercy on you.”
“Do you often take mercy on people you dislike?”
“I’m not answering that.”
He starts to move away, but I catch his wrist. Which is maybe not the best idea, given the last two times I’ve done this (oh hell, am I counting?) it’s earned me Lament’s coldest, most bloodcurdling glare. I wait for that now (the flash of his eyes, the hard exhale as he closes down and jerks away), but the scorn never comes. Lament’s skin is smooth under my fingers. I can feel his bones, the thrum of a pulse. And I’m… not prepared for it. The intimacy of the contact, here on this small shoreline of skin he allows to show. The rest of him: ocean depths hidden from view.
I release his wrist like I’ve been burned. “Sorry.”
He rubs the joint. “For what?”
Since I can’t saytouching youor worse,feeling things about it, I say, “Falling asleep.”
Little frown lines pop between his brows. “Why are you sorry for—?”
“Are you out of control?” I blurt.
He’s still confused. “Hartman, I know you have a proclivity for harebrained revelations, but you’ve lost me.”
“Only you would sayproclivity for harebrained revelations.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“The pain meds. You were worried they’d make you fuzzy. I wanted to be there in case you needed me, but then I fell asleep before I could even make sure you were okay, so now I want to know how you’re feeling.”
“Oh.” He blinks, like he wasn’t prepared for so many words to come out of my mouth all at once. Which, fair, because neither was I. “The medicine isn’t as potent as I feared,” he says. “So, yes. I’m okay.”
“Good.” I nod vigorously. “That’s good.”
He starts to move away again. Glances back. “You coming?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Um. Coming where?”
“To bed?”
My face goes bright red. “What?”
“Our cots are on the upper level. That’s where we sleep when we’re on The Bargainer.” Another too-searching look. “What did you think I meant?”
“That, yes. Obviously.”
