Once back up in our room, I dump a can of Diet Coke down the sink and balance the empty can on the lever that is the door handle.
Lying on the bed with her boots and socks off, Brys frowns at me. "What's that for?"
"Low-tech alarm,” I answer. "If anyone tries to enter the room, we'll know."
"But it's locked."
I snort. "Those keycard lock systems are child's play to bypass."
"How reassuring," she deadpans. "And the best solution is an empty soda can?"
"If you have a better idea, I’m all ears,” I say.
To her credit, I watch her consider the problem for a long time, turning various ideas over in her head. Finally, she sighs, throwing up her hands. "Fine, you win. There are other solutions, but they all require things we don't have and cannot easily find. Your solution is elegantly simple and relatively foolproof, using something readily on hand."
"I can't take credit. Saw it in a movie, once."
I remove the long gun from the blanket and lean it against the side table, near at hand. Next, I give the handgun to Brys. "I'm going to sleep. If that can rattles, you wake me up. If someone knocks on the door claiming to be maintenance or housekeeping, say no thanks. If someone comes through the door, shoot first and don't bother with questions because anyone coming through that door is gonna try to kill us both."
She holds the pistol in both hands, palms up, as if it were a sacred object or alien artifact. "Um. No thanks?"
I show her the safety. “The safety is on. You can't accidentally fire it unless you turn the safety off. I'm a light sleeper, Brys. If that can rattles, I'll hear it. But you need to be ready and willing to protect yourself, if need be, if we’re ever separated.” I place it on the side table on her side of the bed. "Just leave it there. If you hear anything, grab it and just hold it, finger outside the trigger guard, safety on. If it sounds like someone is trying to get in, turn the safety off, but keep your finger like this." I show her my finger along the trigger guard. “If someone starts coming in, point at the center mass and squeeze the trigger. Hold it with both hands, arms out straight in a triangle, like this." I show her the beginner stance.
To her credit, she pays attention and shows me that she understands and can replicate what I’m showing her.
Finally, I think I've prepared her as much as I can, and shuck my filthy, blood-stiffened button-down, and my sweat-stained, dirt-caked, blood-splattered suit slacks.
An odd tension in the silence has my eyes flicking to Brys as I stand beside the bed in my underwear. She's pink-cheeked, eyes everywhere but on me, fingers twisting and twining and knotting on her lap. She's not panting, exactly, but she is taking noticeably deep, affected breaths.
"Problem?" I ask.
"Nope."
The fact that her gaze flicks around the room, lands on me, lingers, roams up and down, and then hastily flickers away again tells me all I need to know. Too bad I'm far too exhausted to do anything about it.
I toss back the blankets, climb in, roll away from Brys, and close my eyes.
"Jakob?" Her voice is low, quiet.
"Mmmm."
"What am I supposed to do while you're sleeping?"
I crack an eye open, snag the remote for the TV, and hand it to her. "Just keep the volume low."
A moment later, I hear a laugh track and conversation as she watches some sitcom.
Sleep pulls me under, then, but even as I drift under, I feel her. I'm hyperaware of her breathing, her body heat.
More than anything else, I'm aware of my own intense attraction to her.
If I weren't more exhausted than I've been since my days as a homeless street kid, I'd be entertaining her in a rather more…vigorous…manner.
If I could get her to let go of her inhibitions, I bet she'd be a real wildcat in bed.
That's my last thought before sleep claims me entirely.
6
