“You count randomly.”
“Uh, no. I count to seven, not randomly.”
“Why seven?”
“Well… That’s how long it takes to commit something to long-term memory.”
His head tilts. “And watching me eat is something you’d like to remember?”
“Don’t get a big head about it. I just like to feed people. It makes me feel good, even if the company’s less than appealing.”
The front legs of his chair crack against my floor as he leans forward and picks up his spoon.
“You know,” I continue. “They also say when you die, your brain stays active for seven minutes.”
“Who’s they?” he asks.
“I don’t know, smart people who study brains, I guess.”
He shakes his head.
“Anyway, I soak in the moments I want to keep, so that when I die, hopefully the replay won’t be so painful.”
His gaze snaps up, and he frowns, staring at me for an embarrassingly long period of time before saying, “Seven seconds to make sure it’s part of your seven minutes?”
I spin the spoon around in my fingers. “Something like that.”
Silence stretches between us and he just…looks at me again, in a way that makes me hyperaware of every breath. And the longer it lasts, the more mortified I become.
Perfect.I trauma dumped my death ritual onto a man who already thinks I carry a communicable disease. I’ve given him enough ammo to last a century.
And he’ll probably tell Art, because that’s what they do—tell each other everything. And then Art will wonder why I never toldhim, and he’ll get weird about it, and then he’ll ask whyLance was in my apartment in the first place, and I’ll have to defend myself over something that isn’t even a thing.
Because this isnota thing.
I brace myself for the cutting remark, but instead, he rises, carrying his bowl to the kitchenette and putting it in the sink.
Then he stands in the door jamb with an odd look on his face.
“Seven, huh?”
I nod, my throat tight. “Seven.”
He jerks his chin then walks to the front door, double tapping the frame. “You need better locks.”
All that warmth I was feeling evaporates.
“Get out of my apartment, Lance.”
He gives a mock-salute before slipping away into the night.
Chapter 10
Genevieve
I press my back against the wood, trying to settle whatever just got knocked loose inside me.
He walked me home because he knows Art would want me safe. He ate my stew because he was hungry. That’s it.
