He stops at the bathroom door and looks back over his shoulder.
“You’re flushed,” he says, calm and matter-of-fact, like he’s pointing out I forgot to lock my car.
My stomach drops.
No. No, I’m not. You can’t even see—
“I’m tired,” I say immediately. “It’s been a day.”
His eyes narrow slightly, like he knows that’s only half of it.
He doesn’t call me on it.
He just turns, pushes the bathroom door open, and pauses.
“One more thing,” he says.
I swallow.
“What.”
He looks at me again, and in the dim light I can’t read everything in his expression, which is probably for the best.
“Stop running,” he says.
I stare at him.
“I wasn’t—”
He lifts a brow.
I shut my mouth.
The corner of his mouth twitches again, almost amused, almost not.
“Go to bed,” he says. “I’ll be two minutes.”
Then he steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, leaving me alone on the landing with my heart thudding so hard, I can feel it trying to explode out of my chest.
Chapter Twenty Two
Nico
The door to her bedroom is cracked open, a warm stripe of light spilling into the hall.
A lamp is on inside.
I stop at the threshold for half a beat, still in my suit, because I don’t have anything else and I’m not sure how Erica would feel about me walking around her house in boxer briefs.
I nudge the door open with my knuckles and step in.
Erica is in bed, duvet pulled up to her neck like armor, reclined against her pillows with her phone in her hand. The second she sees me, she locks the screen and hugs it to her chest like I caught her doing something she shouldn’t.
Her face goes red fast.
Interesting.
I shut the door behind me and lock it—habit—and keep my movements deliberate as I cross the room. The lamp throws a soft glow over everything, blurring the edges, making the space feel smaller and more intimate.
