“Yeah. Maybe.” But the worry deepens anyway.
“I thought you were going to help me.”
“Fine. Standing or sitting?”
“Sitting.”
Min drops into the armchair across from the bed, stretching her leg out with exaggerated flair. I crouch at her ankles, fingers curling around the slick latex that’s suctioned to her skin.
“You know,” she says, smirking down at me, “if this were me trying to help you, you’d be throwing a fit.”
I roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong. “Shush and lift your tush.”
She braces her hands on the armrests, pushes down, and hikes her butt off the chair while I yank. Nothing. The latex doesn’t even budge.
“Gods, it’s really stuck.”
“Tug harder,” she grits out, her voice strained.
“I’m trying.” My hands slip on the slick material.
“On three. One. Two. Three.”
I pull with all my strength, and the chair lurches forward. Min’s grip slips, and suddenly she’s sliding. I scramble back to catch myself, but it’s too late, we both crash to the floor in a heap, the impact jolting up my spine.
For a breath, the room goes silent. We just stare at each other, wide-eyed, half in shock. Then it hits us. Laughter bursts out, wild and uncontained, until my stomach aches. Maybe it’s the tension, maybe it’s the sheer ridiculousness of this night, but it’s the hardest I’ve laughed in months. The sound shakes something loose in my chest, and for the first time since the dinner, it feels like I can breathe.
We eventually calm down, still aching from laughter and from the fall. With effort, I peel her free of the latex, then strip out of my ruined dress. By the time we’re dressed in comfortable clothing, my worry has settled like a stone in my stomach.
“What do we do if they don’t come back?” I whisper.
Min’s about to answer when the door slams open. Leonard stumbles in looking pale and exhausted, wearing clothes I’ve never seen before.
I crane my neck, heart pounding, searching behind him. Marcus isn’t there.
“Where’s Marcus?”
“At one point we thought we were being followed, so we split up,” Leonard pants.
Shit. The bottom drops out of my stomach as my mind conjures up images of Marcus being dragged into an alley and tortured for information, or worse. What if they didn’t even bother questioning him? What if he’s already gone? My chest seizes, lungs refusing to expand. Panic claws at me, sharper than I expected, sharper than I want to admit. Why do I care so much?
I scrub my hand over my face, trying to steady myself. I need to think.
“Hey, it’s dangerous to leave the door open.”
My head snaps up at the sound of Marcus’s voice. Relief floods me so fast my knees nearly buckle. I’m across the room ina heartbeat, throwing my arms around Marcus, burying my face in his neck and breathing him in. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
He stiffens, but then he hugs me back. “I’m glad you’re safe too.” His voice is rough, low.
I take a step back, heat creeping up my neck as the intensity of my reaction settles. Gods, I practically threw myself at him. Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it.
And that’s when I notice what he’s wearing.
Sweats and a tie-dye shirt.
Marcus. In tie-dye.
If someone had put a gun to my head yesterday, I’d have sworn Marcus would rather be executed than be caught dead in something that looks like it was stolen from a beachside yoga retreat.
