Her giggle feels like an accomplishment. “I don’t believe you.”
“All right. The names were too cute to do any real harm.”
“Cute? They’re mean.”
I scoff. “Mean would involve curse words.”
“Oh, I don’t cuss,” she says, as prim and proper as can be. “Well, only in…”
“In what? When you’re driving? When your shitty downstairs neighbor storms up after three hours of sleep to tell you to stop cackling like a hyena.”
“A hyena? No way.”
“All right, like a chicken, then.”
The laugh that bursts from her is high and lively and bright and, beyond all comprehension, hits me right in the balls. Maybe it’s the fear of death hanging over us. The adrenaline. That after-battle thing that makes people jump into bed together.
Christ, where did that come from? After battle? Is that what this is? The idea thrums through me, settling warm in my bullocks.
“Okay, I’ll admit to a slight clucking sound in the higher notes.” A pause, full of awareness. “So, do you not laugh, then, McGrumpypants? Like, ever?”
“You don’t know my name, do you?”
“It’s Llewelyn.”
“That’s my family name.”
“Chucky.”
“Like the horror doll? No! What makes you…? Oh, the C on my letterbox.”
“Christos?”
“No.”
“Uh, Claudius! Clyde? Clementine!”
I’m smiling. “No, no. And clearly not.”
“Chortbert?”
“That’s not a name.”
“Caesar? Carlito?”
My smile turns to a full on grin. “Do you want to know or is guessing fun for you?”
“A little of both. The distraction’s helping.”
Good.“Are you cold?”
“Yes.” Her voice is thin, all humor gone in an instant. “And scared.”
“Here. Take my coat.” Careful not to bump into her, I work the jacket off, my movements awkward in the small space.
“No. No, I’m fine.”
“Bullocks. It’s freezing in here. Come on.” I reach out, encounter a shoulder, and drape it over her.
