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“Do you just let him boss you around like that?” I slide off the stool and let out a huff when my feet hit the floor. “Would he really shoot you in the arm? That doesn’t seem very friend-like.”

Emilio stalks toward the living room. “Most likely. And FYI, if that were to happen, I’d shoot you in the arm next for giving me such an inconvenience. Bullet wounds are a pain in the ass.”

Emilio isn’t fun either.

Got it.

Since I’m exhausted anyway, I shrug and walk toward the stairs. “I’m off to bed. Make yourself at home, I guess.”

He doesn’t bother telling me good night as I stomp up the stairs. I pass the bedroom I slept in last night and keep going until I reach Julian’s.

The door is locked, so I drop my bag on the floor and kneel to find my phone. I hit Julian’s name and stand as the phone rings.

“Yeah,” he answers—because of course.

“That’s such a romantic way to answer your phone,” I mutter.

He doesn’t say a word back.

My shoulders slump. “What’s your bedroom code?”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“If you want me in your bed tonight, you will.”

There’s a short moment of silence until he finally says, “Eleven twenty.”

My chest hitches.

Melissa’s birthday.

“Now that I’ve shared that with you—something I’ve never told anyone else—I expect your ass in my bed tonight,” he says, his voice sounding almost bitter, not fitting his words.

He ends the call.

I input the code, hear the switch move, and walk inside.

I inhale a deep breath and flip on the light. As I move farther into the room, I run my fingers along the made bed. I strip out of my clothes on my walk to his closet and steal one of his sweatshirts.

Much better.

I don’t bother grabbing sweats, staying in my panties, and tread into the bathroom. I open his drawers until I find a spare toothbrush. I’m too lazy to go to my room to grab my electric toothbrush and skin care. I’ll have to sacrifice my thirty-minute-before-bedtime beauty regimen tonight.

Julian’s drawers are clean and organized.

They’re all filled with bathroom essentials, nothing unusual. I expected to find a knife or an Uzi.

After brushing my teeth and using his face wash, I climb into his bed, unsure which side he sleeps on. I send him a quick text, asking him to turn up the heat, but he doesn’t reply.

The sheets smell like him—a comfort.

The room feels like him—another comfort.

Maybe I’m already feeling like this is home.

15

The Past