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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ST. CLARE

When we step into the apartment, my jaw just about hits the floor. This is our super-secret hideout? Completely modern penthouse with new-looking furniture, a shitload of space, and parquetry floors so fucking polished I can make out my reflection in them?

It almost makes up for being shot at.

“Holy fuck,” Lars lets out, striding ahead and pulling back the curtains in the living area. He reveals a deep red sunset, bathing Seattle in shadows, no neighboring building impeding the view.

So this is how the other half lives.

“Three bedrooms,” Lars calls out. “One each.”

“Convenient.”

“I’ll take the one closest to the front door. St. Clare can have the main; pest, you can have the other.”

“Pest?” Perry echoes, dropping his backpack off onto the enormous couch.

“Well, you’re not exactly welcome.”

“I happen to think I’m an excellent asset to the team.”

Lars raises his eyebrows my way. “He would.”

“I dunno …” I watch the way Perry tests out the bouncability of the couch before moving on to inspecting the random knickknacks through the space and landing in the kitchen, where he pulls open every drawer and cupboard in front of him. “He’s less of a pest and more like … our mascot.” Cute and entertaining being the first two words I think of when it comes to him. That, and his puppy dog eyes. “Like a pet.”

Perry checks the date on a box of mac and cheese. “I could be a pet.”

Of course he could.

“As long as I’m not expected to wear a tail or anything like that. I’m game to try it if that’s what you really want, but I have a hunch it’s not for me.”

“I don’t think the tail is necessary.”

He drops the box onto the counter and rubs his lower stomach. The apron is gone, but his thin shirt tugs up a little, showing off the skin above his jeans. “No, but food is. If we don’t get something soon, I’m gonna have to tear into two-months-expired pasta.”

“We just ate,” I remind him.

“I’m a growing boy.”

“You’re actually not.”

He huffs and rips into the box.

“Stop.” Lars’s face is pulled up in disgust. “I’ll duck down to the convenience store we passed on the way here for food and maybe some clothes if they have them. Both of you stay here. Maybe take a shower.”

“Together?”

I choke on fucking air at Perry’s question. “Was that an invitation?”

“Wh-what? No. I …” He thrusts his finger Lars’s way. “He wasn’t clear!”

Lars looks worried for him again. “I didn’t think that was something that needed clarifying.”

Perry’s head hangs back, and I’m not sure whether he’s talking to us or the ceiling. “I should have let them shoot me.”

Lars’s head tilts to the side. “Was that an invitation?”

“Just go and get food. ”

He’s laughing as he leaves, and it’s not until the front door bangs closed behind him that Perry risks a look around again.

“He’s gone,” I confirm.

“He called me a pest.”

I’m about to point out that he is a fucking pest and that Lars still isn’t over the fact Perry almost killed me, but the guy has had a hard enough night. Visiting his sister really opened up a side of him I wasn’t expecting—mostly because I assumed that everyone who meets Perry falls into his spell. It happened with me, I can see it happening with Lars, and all the people at the cafe who ever said so much as a word to him brightened instantly.

His sister was fucking ruthless.

I probably shouldn’t say anything, but it’s not like uncomfortable conversations are anything new for us, and we don’t have a lot else to talk about.

“Is she always that hard on you?”

“Who?” He turns to another cupboard and starts pulling out packaged food at random.

“Your sister.”

For some reason, he looks surprised. “She’s not hard on me. She’s tired.”

“She was really worked up.” I’m not sure whether to say more, but I sort of want to make him feel better. The downtrodden look he wore should never, ever be on his face. “I didn’t like it.”

“Me either, but probably not for the same reasons.” Perry checks the date on a box of cereal, and it must pass because he pops it open and tears into the bag. Then he heads over to sit on the enormous couch. He takes the end closest to the large windows, and with night well and truly kicking in, the city is alive with lights.

The lights in here aren’t on, and I don’t bother to change that as I join him. “Want to talk about it?”

“About my sister?” He turns a fruit loop over between his fingers. “I hate making her like that.”

“You didn’t make her like anything. She overreacted. ”

His sad smile doesn’t do much to make me feel better about the whole thing. “If this was the only time, I’d agree with you. Margot has been there for me my entire life. Through everything. All the good and the bad, and I never doubted I’d have her support. Unfortunately, what you saw was years and years’ worth of this same thing building up on her. She worries a lot, even more since our parents died, and I wish she didn’t, but I can’t seem to find that balance between what I want for my life and what she wants.”

“What does she want?”

“I dunno …” He throws the fruit loop into his mouth and talks around it. “A good job, nice place, probably a wife and kids.”

I bristle at that. “Specifically a wife?”

“Well …” His gaze flicks to me and away again, stirring that something in my gut. “No. I don’t think she’s ever said that. Actually, I don’t think being married and having kids are requirements on her list. When it comes down to it, Margot wants me to be happy and stop stressing her out so much.”

“And that’s different from your list, how?”

“It’s not.” He sounds surprised. “When you really get down to it. I think I’ve reached a point where I’m so used to fucking up I expect it. Hell, I think I even welcome the challenge. The change. It keeps things interesting.”

“You like fucking up?”

He’s clearly at war with himself. “No. Yes? I mean, I must since I keep doing it. Some days, I think everyone is making life so much harder than it needs to be and that if we’d all calm down and see what happens, we’d be a lot happier. Not everyone needs a twelve-point plan with goals and spreadsheets. Some people have to make a whole heap of mistakes until they get it right.”

I’m starting to maybe understand where Margot is coming from. Because maybe Colin is a little bit the same, and one of our last conversations comes back to me. “And some people need those goals and spreadsheets because they can’t afford to make mistakes.”

“What do you mean?”

I shift a cushion closer to him and turn to the side so I can see him properly. Perry mirrors me, half lying against the couch as he eats his way through a box of dry cereal. “I think we’re probably more similar than I’d like.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the brother who gets to make all the mistakes and have all the fun, while Colin is always having to think three steps ahead. I don’t have a fucking clue how much pressure it must be to always be thinking of everything all the time, and I guess you don’t either.”

“You’re saying that I use up her share of mistakes?”

“Every relationship needs a stable one.”

Perry crunches softly, and I reach over to steal one as well. We’ve already had dinner, so I might as well follow it up with dessert. “You seem pretty stable to me,” he says.

“The night we met, I was planning to confront a potential crime lord solo.”

His eyes crinkle. “You’re good at hiding it, then.”

“Before Colin went missing, I was planning to sleep with the guy writing a feature article on us.”

Perry’s chuckle is a warm rumble in his chest. “That could have gotten messy.”

“Very. Just like this. Now. Choosing to trust the guy who tried to shoot me.”

“Counterargument.” He brushes off his hands and sets the cereal down, then moves closer. His knee is right by my knee. “I tried to shoot you one time. I’ve tried to help you twice now. One count not-murder. Two counts savior. Two is better than one.”

“You’ve said.”

“And it still stands. Plus, if we add the countless coffees I’ve made you, it really tips the scales in my favor.”

“I can get behind that theory.”

He leans in a little closer, shit-eating grin in place. “ And you think I’m cute. That’s about a thousand points on its own.”

My face inches closer to his as well. “Oh yeah? Then how many points is very cute?”

“A thousand more than that. ”

My gaze darts to his lips before meeting his eyes again. I’m so fucking sure I see interest there, but with Perry, it’s sort of hard to tell. He looks enthusiastic about almost everything, and I’d hate to misread him. “How many points would it be if I thought you were the sexiest guy I’ve ever met?”

His eyes widen like fucking Bambi, and it’s like I’ve stolen his tongue. “I-I don’t think there’s a point system for that,” he whispers.

“Shame. I think that would be the thing to tip the scales.”

“There you go, then.” He swallows roughly. “I’m not a bad choice at all. You could almost say you’d be ridiculous not to trust me. I’m a sure thing. A guarantee.”

“You also have no idea what words are coming out of your mouth and how they sound right now.”

“I possibly lost consciousness around the word sexy .”

“Technically, it was sexiest .”

“Sure, say it again. That makes everything better when you do.”

It’s almost impossible not to laugh. We’re so close I could count every one of those long, thick eyelashes, could pluck each shade of brown from his eyes, and finally read the interest staring back at me.

“Perry …” My voice is hard to recognize. “Are you sure you’re straight?”

His lips part, and I wait for the immediate confirmation. It doesn’t come.

“I’m not sure of anything anymore.”