Bunch of bullshit.
I was halfway through digging my keys from my pocket, when I stopped to stare at the newest addition to the hallway.
“Gas leak?”
Nicole sat cross-legged on the ground, back resting against her closed apartment door. She was still in scrubs, and had her hoodie pulled up.
“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “It would be in keeping with the theme of the day, which, in case you’re wondering, is What Can Go Wrong, Will Go Wrong.”
“And that’s your roundabout, long-winded way of saying…”
“I locked myself out of my apartment,” she replied, flopping her arms in exasperation. As if I were an idiot for not immediately realizing that, and then more of a scumbag for making her explain herself.
I slotted my key, ready to hit the shower and bed, and forget all about girls with hats and teammates who wouldn’t let me catch a break. “So, call someone to let you in. Google is free.”
“Locksmiths aren’t.” Her words made me stop. Again.
Dammit.
“They’re double not-free on Sundays,” she added, staring up at where I was stuck halfway in, halfway out of my own apartment.
“I’ll pay for it.”
“No you won’t,” she scoffed, turned her gaze back to the blank wall. “My friend’s coming over. She has a spare.”
“Good. So you’ve got it worked out.”
But Nicole slumped into herself with a groan, banging her head—lightly but continuously—against the door.
“She’s on a date, and I don’t know how long it’s going to take her to figure out this one’s a waste of her time.”
There was no reason for me to feel any kind of way about this. I didn’t know her all that well. We weren’t friends.
But the longer I looked at her, the more guilty I felt. Part of it was about knowing I could get her back inside in under two minutes. No smiths of any kind required.
Guilt won out, and I tossed my bag inside. “Give me a second.”
“What? No. Landon. Don’t call a locksmith. I’m just being a baby. I can wait. My friend will be here any—”
I reappeared in the hallway, and her eyes snapped to the small black pouch I had clutched in one hand.
“What are you doing?”
“A little room, please.” I gestured for her to move out of the way, and she obeyed without protest. “I may be San Antonio’s newest star, but I’ll always be a straight-up Bostonian at heart.”
Kneeling in front of her door, I pulled out a tension wrench and a slim pick. The gasp was small, but unmistakable. It gave me a fraction of satisfaction.
“You… know how to pick locks?”
“Let’s just say, growing up, you never knew when you’d need to get into a room you shouldn’t be in.” I shot her a wink.
Her hand went to her mouth, and she started chewing on the cuff of her hoodie. “That sounds ominous.”
“Nothing like that,” I said, laughing softly. “Just kids doing kid stuff because they were bored. That’s where the ice saved me.”
She leaned forward a little, fascinated, and I didn’t exactly discourage it. The faint flowery smell of her shampoo was still evident even after the long day. My fingers worked with muscle memory; tiny clicks under the knob were the soundtrack of a few too many childhood dares and alleyway escapades.
“How was practice?”
