My gaze shoots up again to his face. “I meant that I should go to my room and you’ll go to the other bedroom.”
He runs a hand through his now messy hair. “I’m going to sit up for a bit, but I hope you sleep well.”
There’s a part of me that wants to sit with him, even if it’s just to stare at his profile while he gets lost in his thoughts. He’s doing that now. His jaw is clenching and his fist is tightening around the edge of the counter.
“Sebastian,” I say his name softly.
He raises a brow in silent response.
“I hope when you do go back to bed, that you sleep well too.”
The corners of his mouth rise in a gentle smile. “I haven’t slept well in years. Insomnia comes with the job.”
I nod, even though I have a million questions begging to be asked. He’s just my roommate. We barely know each other and when he doesn’t offer any more details about why sleep eludes him; I turn and walk back to my bedroom, closing the door behind me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sebastian
I wantedto follow Matilda into her room last night.
I haven’t felt a woman’s arms wrapped around me in pure comfort in years.
The way she was looking at me made me feel like I’d be safe in her bed, in her embrace, pressed next to her body as I drifted off to sleep.
When she closed the door to her bedroom I settled on the sofa, my gaze pinned to the window and the lights of the city beyond.
I sat there for hours thinking. I finally dragged my ass back to my bedroom at three. I slept until my alarm woke me at six-thirty.
I was showered, dressed in a gray suit and white shirt and on my way to work by seven.
“You look like shit, partner.”
I don’t look up from my desk. I know that voice all too well. Samuel Brant is standing next to me.
He landed in homicide five months ago with that wide-eyed look and frenetic energy all new detectives share.
It’s slowly wearing away now, replaced with the jaded view of New York City that every person in this squad room now has.
“I’m tired,” I reply with a forced laugh. “I was here a hell of a lot later than you were last night.”
“I have a girlfriend, “ he points out with a tap of his fingers on the edge of my desk. “I need to kiss her goodnight in my own special way every night.”
I finally look up at him. He’s younger than me by three years. His brown hair is cut short. His blue eyes are a shade lighter than mine. I’ve got a few inches on him, and I outweigh him by a solid twenty pounds, but he holds his own.
He sprinted past me last week during a foot chase of a suspect. He wrestled the guy to the ground with ease. I was impressed and told him as much.
“I don’t need the details, Brant.” I shake my head. “I also don’t need a girlfriend. I get the opportunity to kiss women good night in my special way whenever the mood strikes.”
“Have you ever been married?” He takes a seat behind his desk. It faces mine. Our lieutenant is convinced that it encourages better communication between partners. I’m convinced that it breeds hostility.
I’ve never found a perfect rhythm with a partner. Samuel is my fifth since I was assigned to this division. There’s a reason I’m nicknamedLone Wolfin the squad room.
No one has ever said it to my face, but I hear the whispered insults behind my back. I don’t always follow procedure to a tee. I do what’s needed to close the cases I’m assigned, within the blurred boundaries of the law, of course.
“No.” I shake my head. “You?”
“I’m considering it.” He looks down at his left hand. “My girl is the one. I’m running out of reasons not to pop the question.”
