Chapter 4

 

WHEN I got out of the shower the next morning, I heard movement in my kitchen, so I moved to the railing at the end of my bed—there was just enough room there for me to walk—and yelled down that I was armed.

“Yeah? And?” came back the snide reply.

“You could ring the doorbell like a normal person,” I mentioned, smiling in spite of myself when Ian walked out of the kitchen directly below me and into the living room where I could see him.

“But I have a key,” he countered.

“Which you’re only supposed to use when I’m not here.”

“You’re never not here.”

I sighed. “Which if you think about, is really sad. I need a vacation to some tropical paradise so I can get laid.”

He squinted up at me. “Why can’t you just get laid here?”

The question, asked so innocently as he stood in the middle of my townhouse, was like a punch in the gut. Because I could have sex, right there, on the couch… bent over the couch, on the floor, or even better, in my bed. I could get laid anywhere in my home… if Ian were gay. I could. But I wouldn’t, because he wasn’t.

Christ.

“Well?”

“I need a vacation,” I muttered, turning away since I was in a towel and nothing else. “And why’re you dressed like a lumberjack?” I shouted, wanting to make sure my voice carried.

“Why’re you yelling? I can hear you fine.”

There was no winning.

“Just tell me why you’re dressed like that,” I prodded.

“Homeland Security raid at that youth halfway house in Schaumburg. We have a lead on that girl, what was her name?”

I stopped halfway to my closet, having to make new clothes choices. “It’s Lucy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Lucy Kensington. She skipped out before she could be taken into custody by marshals in Lubbock,” he said as he clomped up the stairs. For a Green Beret, Ian walked really heavy.

“I thought you were supposed to be stealthy.”

“I’m bringing you coffee, don’t be a dick.”

I chuckled as I grabbed a pair of briefs from my armoire, my low-rise jeans, a T-shirt, a Henley, and a pair of socks. “She’s the one who’s supposed to be testifying against some cult leader there, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Ian answered, reaching the top of the stairs and walking over to me, a mug in each hand. Instantly he grimaced.

“What?” I asked as I took the one he offered me.

“You have bruises all over you,” he remarked before taking a sip of coffee. “And between that and the cast on your wrist, you’re a fuckin’ mess, man.”

I shrugged. “I knocked down a moose yesterday, you saw me.”

“I guess,” he said irritably, frowning, reaching out to touch my shoulder. “Gross, why’re you slimy?”

“It’s lotion, ya heathen. You have to take care of your skin, use moisturizer on your face, or you’re gonna look like a saddle when you get old.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, obviously placating me. “Is your wrist better today? You sounded like it hurt last night.”

“It did, but it’s fine now. Go away while I get changed.” The coffee was good, he’d used the Kona I kept in the freezer instead of the French roast I had in the pantry.

He pointed at the clothes in my hand. “You can’t wear those jeans to a raid.”

“What?” I asked, drinking down more hot coffee. He was good about adding the right amount of cream so I could still taste it but drink it fast.

“I’ve seen those jeans on, and they’re way too tight. You can’t run in them. This is not Starsky and Hutch.”

I stared at him until he groaned, muttered under his breath, and went back downstairs. But he was right; all I needed to do was ruin a two hundred dollar pair of jeans sliding over asphalt. Returning to my closet, draining the mug as I did, I refolded them and picked something else to wear. Once I was changed, I brushed my teeth and then started putting product in my hair.

“Done yet, princess?” he demanded as he strolled into the bathroom.

I glared at him in the mirror. “Do you think I just roll out of bed and my hair looks this good? This is art.”

“It looks like you woke up and ran your hand through it.”

“I know, and that takes time. Each strand has to stand at a different angle or it doesn’t work,” I explained to my ignorant partner. “All the pieces have to be in the right place.”

“Or what?”

“Or it’s not sexy.”

“You’re plenty sexy,” he yawned, snatching my empty cup off the counter before walking out. “Now, can we go before we’re too old to do our job?”

It was as good as it was going to get. I flipped off the light and walked to my bed so I could sit down and put on my harness boots.

“Corduroys?” he said like he was in pain.

“You didn’t notice in the bathroom?”

“I didn’t look in the bathroom,” he said dryly.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t own a pair of Wranglers like you do,” I informed him. “Or Levi’s for that matter.”

“There’s nothing hotter than button-fly, my friend.”

He had a point.

“But really, your fuck-me jeans would not have gone over well.”

I ignored him, and when I stood up, he winced.

“What now?”

“How much did those boots cost?”

I lifted my foot to check the bottom. “I dunno, three, four hundred.”

“Please take them off. I know my black leather combat boots are in your closet somewhere; just wear those. I beg you.”

“These are boots.”

“No, they’re not,” he cajoled. “C’mon.”

“I have a pair of Antonio Maurizi wingtip boots that I could—”

“I don’t know what those are, but I can’t imagine they’re any better than what you’ve got on your feet right now. Just change ’em.”

“I have the biker boots that—”

“No, I have your biker boots from that Saturday we went out to the farmers’ market.”

“Oh.” Funny that I hadn’t even missed them. “Do you have the Dolce&Gabbana distressed-leather biker boots or the—”

“I have no idea what I have. They’re soft, that’s all I know.”

I had to think.

“Miro!”

“Yeah, okay,” I muttered, sitting back down and pulling off the boots as he stalked over to my closet, rummaged around, and came back with his beat-up military-issue combat pair. They were worn but still in great shape, and most of all, stupid as it was, they were Ian’s and so I loved wearing them. And they fit like a glove.

“God, I should move in,” he grumbled, oblivious as I stopped breathing. The things that came out of that man’s mouth would be the death of me. “Imagine how much faster this would go in the morning if you didn’t have to think: should I wear the Antonio-whoever shoes instead of the—”

“Antonio Maurizi,” I yelled as he took the stairs.

“Like I fuckin’ care!”

I followed him down minutes later, and when I went to the hall closet and pulled out my chester coat, he stopped me.

“Grab your uniform parka and let’s go.”

“Yeah, but—”

He growled, so I grabbed what he wanted, made sure I had my badge, gun, ID, wallet, keys, and phone, and then went out ahead of him.

After he locked my front door, he shook his head like I was exhausting and charged down the front stoop.

“Why’re you mad at me?”

“Do you have any idea how long it takes me to get ready in the morning?”

I grinned wide. “That’s because you’re naturally gorgeous. I have to work at it. Getting this level of pretty doesn’t come easy.”

“Get in the car!”

I was still chuckling when I got in and told him I needed more coffee.

“If you didn’t take so long in the bathroom, you could chug down more caffeine.”

“Yeah, well, again. I need time to look this good.”

He pulled away from the curb like he was driving the getaway car in a bank heist, and instantly I had to grab hold of the dash.

“Jesus, Ian.”

The wicked smile was not lost on me.

 

 

LUCY KENSINGTON looked like she belonged on the cover of a romance novel in which the heroine is one of the sweet plucky virginal ingénues who the hero falls head over heels for. In reality, she swore like a sailor and went after Ian with a knife, trying to dig out his heart as quickly as possible.

I was guessing she was normally handled more delicately, because she screamed in indignation when he disarmed her, put her facedown on the concrete, and cuffed her. She called him a lot of foul names I’d heard and a few I hadn’t—a real achievement—until the shooting started. Once we were all under fire—Homeland Security, local police, and us pinned down in the courtyard of the halfway house—she shut up, curled into a ball behind Ian, and apologized to both of us over and over.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her cheek against Ian’s broad muscular back. “But I wouldn’t have made it this far if I wasn’t a total bitch.”

“Well, we’re here to take care of you,” Ian said, trying to soothe her as the rat-a-tat-tat of AK-47 fire echoed in the small space.

If I lived to be a thousand, I would never understand the mentality of people firing at law enforcement when they entered their building. Yes, we were stuck now, but reinforcements would come to surround the building, and then there’d be nowhere for them to go, either. There was no way out. Even if they took hostages, it all eventually ended badly. There was no scenario in which they won. All they had to do was think logically, just for a moment.

“And Javier.”

“I’m sorry?” I had been zoning for a moment, but her comment caught my interest.

“My boyfriend, Javier—Javi,” she explained. “Abel Hardy’s after him too. He’s the guy we were running away from. He’s why we left Texas.”

“And where is Javier?” I asked, not really even wanting to know.

“He was in our room on the third floor.”

Of course he was. We were in the courtyard on the first floor, outside the building. It only made sense that Javier was inside, all the way up on the third. Murphy’s Law and all that.

“I already told the marshals in Lubbock,” she began patiently. “That if Javi and me didn’t get taken in together, that I wasn’t gonna testify. That’s why we ran away, because they wouldn’t listen. But you will, right? You’re different than the Texas marshals.” I glanced over my shoulder at her. She was gazing at us with her big cornflower-blue eyes like we were angels straight from heaven.

“So you and Javier were together when—” I searched my memory. “—the drug bust went down.”

“And we saw Mr. Hardy shoot all those people. Yeah.”

“How many?”

“Five. There were three men and two women. They were those tourists that went missing. It was all over the news in Lubbock.”

I nodded.

“You and Javier were there?” Ian wanted to make sure.

“Uh-huh,” she replied innocently. “He told me to be quiet, but I was so scared—kinda like now, but at least y’all have guns. We didn’t have nothin’. I was sure Mr. Hardy was gonna kill us too, but then the police came, and then the marshals.”

“And you and Javier got separated?”

“Yessir, we did.”

I could see how it happened, how it was reported that Lucy saw it all without mention of her boyfriend.

“So you’ll get him, right?”

Fuck.

“Right?” she pressed.

“Javier what?”

“Valencia,” she sighed. “Isn’t that pretty?”

We both nodded before Ian turned to the Homeland Security agent who had been crouching down beside us the whole time.

“Who’re you?” I got around to asking.

“Agent Gerald Spivey.”

“Okay, Agent Spivey.” Ian sighed. “Marshal Jones and I are going in after another witness, so we need you to secure this one. Do you understand?”

“Yessir.”

“Great.” Ian puffed out a breath before he turned to face me. “Don’t get shot in the head.”

“Ditto.”

The troopers covered us as we ran for the building, and then Ian counted and I had his back as he kicked in the door and we went in. That was as far as we got. Apparently SWAT had come in through the back and they were there, already having breached the interior, fanned out along the corridor, all of them encased in body armor.

“Marshals,” the SWAT commander greeted us tersely.

“Lieutenant,” Ian returned. “Is this level secure?”

“Affirmative, all threats have been neutralized.”

I didn’t even want to know how many people were dead.

“We’re going to the third floor now. Is there a witness here to secure?”

“Yessir.” Ian nodded.

“Follow us up.”

“Do you have snipers on site already?” I asked.

“Negative. We have no higher ground. As this is a residential area, our purpose is containment. No one leaves the grounds that could be considered a threat to private citizens.”

Translation: anyone running from the halfway house who was armed would be shot dead. He had twenty men with him, and even though I could tell Ian wanted to be in the middle of the team, I grabbed hold of his forearm and held him still as they filed by.

“What are you doing?”

“They go first, then us.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then stop tensing up like you’re getting ready to run. Just wait.” I finished talking and let him go.

“I’m waiting,” he retorted, clearly annoyed.

I moved in behind him, my mouth to his ear. “Don’t disappear; stay where I can see you.”

He leaned just enough so he could feel me there, at his back. “I always do.”

“You never do.”

“Okay.”

The rear guard ran by, and Ian bolted after him with me following close.

When marshals searched, we yelled, we announced ourselves, we barked out orders like “freeze,” “get on your knees,” and “put your hands where we can see them.” A SWAT team just moved. With us, if you fired, you still had a chance. We would call out what we were, “Federal marshals, put down your weapons!” With SWAT, if you were stupid enough to fire on them, they fired back and that was it. I was pleased that there was no gunfire in the stairwell as we made our ascent, none on the second floor we searched to make sure the witness hadn’t run, and none when the SWAT team began pounding up more steps to the third.

Ian and I trailed behind, sending down a lot of other scared civilians after radioing ahead that we were sending them out of the halfway house. They’d need protection too.

By the time we made it to the third floor, SWAT had already swept it, hyperefficient, leaving two men to guard the stairwell as the rest of them breached the door to the roof. Half of them were outside already, and I could hear gunfire being exchanged. More kids huddled in the hall and peeked out of rooms.

“Javier Valencia!” Ian yelled.

From the second to last door on the right, a kid stepped out with his hands raised above his head. “Please don’t shoot!”

“Federal marshal,” I shouted. “I need to take you to Lucy.”

“Lucy?” he asked hopefully, taking a step forward.

Another kid grabbed his arm to stop him, whispered something, and Javier froze. “How do I know you’re a marshal?”

Turning slowly, I reached down and lifted my parka so he could see the badge on my belt. “I’m sorry the marshals in Texas didn’t listen to you and your girlfriend.”

He raced down the hall to us and didn’t stop until I lifted a hand to slow his approach. I was surprised that he slowed but walked right up against my open palm.

“It’s okay, kid,” I said gently, putting my hand on his shoulder as he started to shake.

His face scrunched up like he was ready to cry, and I understood at that moment that both he and the girl he loved were younger than they looked. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Let’s go see her.”

“All of you,” Ian yelled, making sure his voice carried. “Let’s go.”

Seeing Javier trust us was all the rest of them needed. They poured out of the rooms carrying purses, backpacks, and messenger bags. Ian went first, passed the two SWAT guys stationed at the top of the stairs, followed by the kids, thirty counting Javier, and I brought up the rear.

Even moving as fast as we were, the story came out, the kids explaining in staccato bursts of information. The gunmen were friends of the guy who ran the house. They were just supposed to be passing through, but that was a month ago. They were making homemade bombs, dealing drugs to fund the operation, and stockpiling weapons. No one knew what they wanted, but they had called themselves environmental extremists.

“But they sold drugs, man,” one of the kids said. “That’s not right. Right?”

He seemed honestly confused.

“No, it’s not,” I agreed, reminding them to stay together, remain in single-file formation, and to hurry up.

We made good time and were met at the bottom by a throng of uniforms. We waited along with everyone else for SWAT to subdue the gunmen on the roof. None of the common areas were safe until they did which meant that entering the courtyard or going out the front was off limits.

There was smoke on the roof and minutes later we were given the all clear.

Chicago PD corralled the kids and loaded them onto a prison transfer bus while Ian walked Javier back to Agent Spivey and Lucy.

She squealed when she saw him; he rushed forward, and there in the middle of everything, they were passionately reunited. I doubted either of them could breathe with how tight the lip-lock was.

Once Ian pulled them apart, Javier looked around and said absently, “I don’t remember that guy.” Ian and I both saw him at the same time, one of the kids we brought down from the third floor—and he was carrying a handgun.

Before I could yell a warning to the officer loading up the second bus full of kids, Ian holstered his gun, flew forward, and tackled the guy from the side, hitting him hard, making a hole in the middle of the line. Ian landed all over him, wrestling him to the ground as several uniformed police officers ran forward, weapons drawn, shouting out orders for Ian to freeze and put his hands on top of his head.

“Federal marshal!” I yelled, bolting toward my partner, terrified for a second that they were going to shoot Ian even as they started lowering their guns after seeing the back of his parka.

When I turned back to check on them, Lucy and Javier were smiling at me.

“You see,” Lucy said brightly, “We’re already helping.”

I put them both in the car, started it up, and turned on the heat so they could snuggle in the backseat and stay warm while I got out again to wait for Ian.

Ian passed off the gunman and joined me at the car where I was leaning against the roof.

“What?” he sniffled, squinting at me.

“What’s the procedure, Ian?”

“When?”

“You see a guy with a gun: what’re you supposed to do?”

“Oh for crissakes.”

“What,” I repeated firmly, “are you supposed to fuckin’ do?”

“You yell ‘gun’ and pull yours.” He was exasperated and I could hear it in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” I agreed. “And what did you do right there?”

“He was in line with the other kids, Miro,” he defended himself. “You know what would have happened. He would have grabbed the kid in front of him, and then we would have had a hostage situation or worse. What if he put a gun to one kid’s head and then got on the bus with the others?” His voice started rising the more agitated he got. “Then what?”

“Then what? I dunno. You’re the psychic,” I volleyed.

“Why’re you being stupid?”

“So now I’m stupid, but you’re the one who didn’t follow protocol.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. What’s wrong with you?” I insisted, feeling my face get hot. “All he had to do was look up and see you running, and he could’ve shot you in the head.”

“I have my vest on.”

“Which does nothing for your head, you stupid prick!” I roared, banging my fist down hard on the roof. “What’d you say before we even went into the stupid building—”

“Listen—”

“No! Fuck you! What’d you say?”

“I said ‘don’t get shot in the head,’” he answered woodenly.

“That’s right! Don’t get shot in the head! And then what do you do? Huh? You fuckin’ almost let it happen to you!”

My heart was pounding, I was shaking, and my whole body was freezing even as my face was on fire. I couldn’t stop imagining the guy turning and firing and Ian going down. It was on a continuous loop in my brain.

“Miro.”

I needed distance, and now. I spun around, charged over to the side of the building, and bent over, hands on my knees, trying to breathe, to not hyperventilate.

He was there in seconds, hand on the back of my neck, squeezing gently. “Sorry. I’m really sorry. Forgive me, I didn’t even think.”

I had to concentrate on getting the air in and out of my lungs.

His fingers slid up my nape into my hair, and the slow stroking calmed me as he bent over beside me. “Next time we’ll both run, and I’ll have you close enough to cover me. ’Cause I don’t want some perp to grab anybody, but the tackle would have been all right if you were close enough to shoot him if he drew on me.”

I nodded.

“So, yeah, that was bad, and if you could leave that out of your report so Kage doesn’t chew my ass off, that’d be good.”

I lifted slowly, finally finding the silver lining in my day.

“Aww, come on,” he pleaded as I grinned at him before heading back to the car. “You really gonna do me like that?”

I was silent as I got in the car, although, no, I would never hang my partner out to dry. But there was a difference between the truth and what I would let him think I would do.

When he joined me, sliding into the driver’s seat, he leaned his forehead on the steering wheel and groaned.

“Can we please leave now, Marshal Doyle?” I asked.

“I said I was sorry.”

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

He started the car; I leaned back and got comfortable, putting on my seatbelt and closing my eyes.

“I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“Not hungry,” I sighed deeply.

“I’m hungry,” Lucy said from the backseat.

“I can eat,” Javier seconded.

“Fuck,” Ian said miserably.

Served him right. “I hate to be scared,” I muttered.

“Yeah, I know that, don’t I.”

Yes, he did.

“Are we gonna eat?” Lucy continued.

“Are you guys buying?” Javier wanted to know.

“He is,” I said, offering Ian and his wallet up on a silver platter.

 

 

I OFTEN thought that the reason some members of law enforcement went rogue was because of the enormous amount of paperwork they had to do, to be legit. It was exhausting. But even though it was more work, I typed up a full report on what Ian did in the moments after we secured our witnesses, saved it, sent it to him—and then redid it before I submitted it to Kage. It was fun to watch Ian go pale as he read through it.

“Oh fuck me,” he whined.

What was even more perfect was when, moments later, Kage threw his door open and he called Ian and me in to give us the news about what the dispensation was on our two runaways. Ian slunk in behind me, stood in front of our boss’s desk with me, and listened as he explained that Lucy and Javier would be transferred to Oregon since Chicago was no longer safe for them. Marshals from the Portland field office would be there by the end of the day to take the two into custody.

When he was done and excused us, Ian stayed where he was.

“Something else?” he asked Ian sharply.

I covered for him. “We just wanted to make sure that the two of them are going in together. We wanted to let Lucy and Javier know for certain.”

Instant glower from my boss. “You brought them in as a unit, Jones, so that decision was already made in the field. They’ll absolutely be entering the program together.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said cheerfully, turning to leave.

“You’re dismissed, too, Doyle.”

I made sure I moved fast since now Ian knew I’d fudged the report, and was halfway across the room when I pivoted back and saw Ian close the door behind him.

Jaw clenched, he started after me.

I darted out into the hall and hit the elevator button, debating on whether to pop back to holding to talk to Lucy and Javier. I had already promised them they were going into witness protection together, and they had believed me, but one more reassurance couldn’t hurt. I had explained that, just as my boss said, intake was based on field decisions.

“You fuck!”

The elevator dinged at the same time and I ducked inside with fifteen or so other people, turning to smile at him as he charged forward. The doors closed right before he reached me.

I’m sure everyone heard the yell as the car started its descent.

“I don’t know what’s with that guy.” I shrugged and got many smiles and some laughter from the back.

Downstairs, I got off; our office was up on the twenty-fourth floor, so it was never a fast ride up or down. Out on Dearborn Street, I glanced around at the concrete, steel, and glass buildings and decided that since it was so close to lunch, I’d walk over to the food trucks and get a sandwich from the Vietnamese one I loved. Crossing the street, I headed down, realizing I’d been in such a rush to get away from Ian that I forgot my parka and I was shivering.

I debated going back, but it made more sense to grab lunch first even though I’d be suffering from hypothermia by the time I got there.

“You’re such an asshole!”

I had enough time to glance over my shoulder before I was grabbed from behind.

“Get off me!” I laughed, the protest covering the gasp of pleasure of having Ian’s arm thrown over my shoulder as he yanked me back into him. He was so warm, the heat from his body pressing against mine, wedged tight, the feel of his chest and abdomen indescribably good, as well as his breath in my ear as he whispered the threat against my life.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, drinking in every brush of contact.

“Why would you do that?” he persisted, still pulling on me, tightening his hold, barely letting me walk.

“To teach you not to scare me,” I said softly, slipping my hands under his open parka, sliding them up his sides.

“Yeah? You feel like you taught me a lesson?” he teased, bumping into me as we moved awkwardly, our hips and chests grazing, each of us stepping into the other’s space, trying not to falter, trip or be tripped as we shuffled.

I ducked my head to try and spin and pull away, but he countered, and I ended up with him plastered to my back, his left arm around my neck, his right hand on my abdomen.

“Miro?”

I shuddered. I couldn’t have stopped the sensation from rolling through me if I tried. It was too much; I was overstimulated from just that much contact.

“Ya cold?”

Oh dear God yes, go with that. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ freezing.”

Instantly he let go and started pulling off his parka.

“Oh no, then you’ll be freezing,” I hedged, walking backward a few steps before whirling around and jogging down the street. “Let’s just go fast!”

He caught me easily, hand closing on my bicep, tugging me to a stop. “I have a sweater on, all you have is that knit thing. Just take the jacket.”

“It’s a Henley,” I informed him as he shoved the coat he had already taken off at me.

“Whatever.” He snickered, shaking his head as he looked at me. “Just put it on. We’ll get food and go back and finish the mountain of paperwork.”

The jacket was warm, and best of all, it smelled like Ian. When I shoved my hand in the right pocket, I found a pair of gloves I’d been missing since November. “Hello?”

“What?” he asked as we walked.

“These are mine.”

“You gave those to me.”

“I did not.”

“Well, give ’em here, ’cause I’m freezing.”

“Oh for crissakes,” I said, unzipping the parka.

His grin was pure concentrated evil as he stopped me.

“Nice.”

“I hope we’re only walking as far as the food trucks, though.”

“We are.”

“Okay, good, because seriously, it’s like eight out here.”

“It’s more like twenty-five,” I corrected him.

“And the wind off the lake?”

Maybe he was right.

Once we were back in our building, riding the elevator up, we got shoved all the way into the corner. I stood in front of him and was surprised when he took hold of my hip and leaned me back into him.

“I’m freezing.”

“Sorry,” I sighed, the feel of his groin pressed to my ass making me light-headed.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled against the back of my neck before I felt his forehead there. “I’m warming up a little.”

Fucking Ian. I was going to get a hard-on in the elevator because he was too damn close to me. I really needed to go out and find someone to sleep with. Maybe I would go back to the gym after work and find that guy I’d blown off the night before and—

“Are you listening?”

“What?” I fixated on his right hand up under the parka on my hip, the feel of his stubbled chin brushing my ear, and his breath on my cheek. Everything else was lost.

“I said, remember we gotta get out on time today.”

“Why?”

“Because we gotta go over to Emma’s.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at him.

“Her brother’s birthday party?” He tried to jog my memory.

“No,” I said simply.

“You can’t say no,” he told me. “It’s my girlfriend’s brother.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t have to go,” I said. “She’s your girlfriend.”

“And you’re my partner and my buddy. It’s in the friend thing.”

“Contract?”

“Yeah.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I think you didn’t read the fine print.”

“I think you’re delusional if you think I’m spending an entire evening with—”

“If I gotta go, so do you,” he insisted, like it was all decided.

“Not true, actually.”

But he smirked at me, all cocky with the crinkling laugh lines and the curling lip and when his head went down on my shoulder, I gave up.

“We’re supposed to be there around seven.”

I was never getting laid.