“What are you gonna do? Sit on the edge of the bed and guard me?”
Jack sighed. Dragged a hand through his hair. “You know what? Sure.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
At eleven p.m.,after Jack had long given up on the phone ringing and he’d had enough whisky to feel his blood buzzing in his veins, he staggered upstairs after Boris, mumbling, “It’s room three-oh-nine.”
“I know what room it is,” hissed Boris, loudly enough to wake the entire floor. He clutched the nearly empty bottle in his hand. “I checked you in, remember?”
Jack raised his eyebrows, grinned a little crookedly. “I think you checked me out.”
“Nope. You’re still checked in.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Boris smirked in response. “What if I did? You gonna rat me out?”
“Hey man, I am not—I repeat, I am not—a snitch. Besides, I only turned you down ‘cause you wouldn’t remember anything.” The floor beneath him spun in circles. Jack stopped, leaned against the wall, blinked until the world righted itself and Boris’s face came back into focus, expression a little too intense. “Also, I think I have a girlfriend.”
“You think?” Boris slurred. He stumbled, caught himself before he crashed into one of the gaudy paintings on the wall.
“I mean, yeah. I think so.”
“Lemme know if that ever changes.” There was something dark, simmering in his voice, deep and rich as velvet.
“Oh yeah, totally,” Jack agreed, eyes locked on Boris’s broad shoulders, his sculpted thighs. “Sorry about that.”
“You fucking should be. Fuckin’ Greek tragedy is what we are.”
They reached Jack’s door, and he impatiently held out his hand for the key. Jack handed it over, watched Boris fumble for a moment before triumphantly announcing, “Ah-ha!” as though he’d just solved a particularly difficult equation.
Maybe itwasdifficult to function after half a bottle of whisky and weeks of no sleep, Jack thought, drifting into the room after him like an exhausted ghost. Maybe he was just being judgmental.
Boris paused in front of the bed, where Jack’s notes were still strewn across the comforter. He gestured with a large hand. “The fuck is this?”
“I’m tryin’ to figure out what’s going on,” said Jack, rushing to gather the loose pages. Half of them spilled free, piling onto his feet. “Oops.”
“Huh,” said Boris, grasping a page from the mattress and staring at it as though it had personally offended him. “‘m too drunk for this.”
“Yeah, hold on a sec,” said Jack, snatching up the last of the papers. “Now you can lay down."
“It’sliedown, dumbass.”
“Fine. Lie down, smartass.”
“What’s this obsession with my ass?”
Jack gave an exasperated groan. “You started it!”
“Yeah, I know.” Boris kicked off his shoes, turned to grin at Jack. “Thanks for babysitting me.”
“You need it,” grumbled Jack under his breath as Boris slipped under the covers. “I’m just gonna watch TV and keep an eye out for the ghost, OK?”
“Never said she was a ghost,” Boris said, wriggling under the sheets.
“OK, well whatever she is, I’m going to keep watch for her, OK?”
