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He padded into the kitchen later, still shirtless, like nothing had changed.
He poured himself a cup of coffee without asking.
Sat across from me with his usual, unreadable calm.
“You work today?” he asked.
I nodded. “Morning shift. Inventory and new animal intake.”
“I’ll drive you,” he said.
“I can take the train.”
He stared at me. Took a sip.
“I’ll drive you,” he said again.
I didn’t argue.
Didn’t trust my voice.
When I stood, I felt the ghost of his hands on my skin. The memory of his weight pressing me into the mattress. The sound of his voice when he said my name like it meant something.
I packed my things in silence.
We didn’t touch.
Didn’t speak.
But when we walked out of my new door together, his hand hovered at the small of my back.
Not quite touching.
But close enough that I felt that touch linger for hours.
Couldn’t stop myself from smiling every time I did.
SEVEN
Molly
Two Weeks Later
“Have the goons retired?”I asked Hope.
“Molly,” she said, glaring daggers at me.
Well, I couldn’t really call them daggers.
I mean, this was Hope I was talking about, so “daggers” were a stretch. More like toothpicks, but those sharp plastic ones shaped like swords.
I smiled at my own silly thought, knowing who was to blame, and looked at my best friend in the world.
Her neat braids were pulled up in her usual sloppy bun, and she looked like herself except for the fact that her jeans and T-shirt were designer, and her wedding ring was big enough to blind me. But even still, sitting in the beautifully appointed home she shared with Nico, one where clearly no expense was spared, she was still Hope.
The girl was the nicest girl I’d ever met. The real kind of nice. The kind that didn’t flinch when shit got tough.
The very first time I met Hope, I had known we were going to be fast friends.