I hardly have time to pull on a pair of shorts and knock back a coffee before Carter knocks on the door. Sorry, I mean: Carter starts by trying to break in using the spare key I should never have given him, except mine is already in the lock—call it a safety quirk of mine. I glance over at Lois. She’s fast asleep, her fists clenched. When I unlock the door, Carter pushes it open without a beat, stalking right past me and pulling up a barstool at the kitchen counter, setting up his laptop and laying out a few loose sheets of paper in front of him.
“Heavy night, huh?” he says, chuckling behind me. “I can smell the whiskey fumes from here. You’re a walking hangover.”
“You were supposed to come tonight,” I remind him with a shrug. “Deal with it.”
I snatch up his favorite mug and fill it to the brim with coffee while he settles in, kicking off his shoes.
“Uh, Lane?”
I keep my eyes focused on the coffee, throwing in two sugars. “?’Sup?”
“Anything you’d care to share?”
“About?” I look up at him.
He’s turned sideways, gazing toward the back of the living room.
“What’s up with the chick on your couch?”
“Oh, that…”
“Yeah, that! Don’t make me call the cops on your ass, man. I’m picturing a SWAT team, tear gas—”
“Why does your mind always go to the worst scenarios? Maybe she just fell asleep here.”
“I mean… There’s a girl… lying on your couch… and that’s weird. If this was the guys’ apartment we were talking about, then sure. But here…” He stands up.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking she’s breathing.”
“Sit down!” I hiss, grabbing him by the arm. “You’re being ridiculous, dude! Drink your coffee!”
“So explain yourself, then. You’re not the kind to let a girl hang around once you’ve screwed her. Wasted or not,” he adds.
“I haven’t even screwed her yet!”
“?‘Yet’? Okay, now that makes sense! So, you’re keeping her on the back burner, huh?”
“No! That’s not what I meant. Jeez, you’re fucking exhausting, you know that?”
He scours my face, a wry grin playing on his lips, and it takes everything I have not to launch the sugar cubes at his head.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn, wagging a finger at him.
“Okay,” he says, but he keeps staring at me.
“Carter…”
“Lane…”
“I mean, seriously, look at her!” I throw up my hands. “She’s a hot mess. I scooped her off the stairs on Sunday morning. Her ex threw her out two days before she started at SHU. I felt sorry for her, and now I have no fucking clue how to ditch her. She was supposed to go stay at a motel, but it fucking burned down!”
“She’s been here sinceSunday? Wow, my best friend is suddenly becoming a saint, and I’m the last to hear! So did you, like, comfort her and shit?”
“Oh, give me a break, Cart! She crashed on the couch, that’s all.”
“So is she looking for an apartment, or what?”
