Page 17 of The Complete Truth Duet
Hugo’s crap was everywhere. Dirty clothes, dishes, and empty pizza boxes were strewn across the half-linoleum, half-concrete flooring.
But at least it wasn’t carpet.
Drew spun in a circle. “Home sweet home.”
“It’s only one bedroom,” she said—another apology.
I felt her gaze land on me: soft as a feather, harsh as an interrogation. I didn’t dare look in her direction. We’d shared enough contact earlier in the day to last me a lifetime.
Switching the black duffel that held my limited clothing and toiletries to my other hand, I escaped down the hall, the sound of Drew’s motor-mouth filling the space I left empty.
“Ignore him,” he told her.
Yes. Please ignore me.
“What’s his deal?” she asked.
There wasn’t enough time in all of eternity for Drew to explain that one. Not that he would.
I continued to listen to them talk as I took in the filthy bedroom, complete with a stained mattress and a tower of beer cans.
“He was born without a personality. You’ll get used to it,” Drew replied.
There were several beats of silence where I could only assume they were exchanging knowing looks. But, again, I wasn’t willing to turn around and see for myself.
“All right. I guess I’ll let you guys settle in. The bathrooms in the front of the building still work. I’ve shifted the girls around so one-oh-two is open. The door has three locks. If you’re inside…use them. On the flip side, if they’re locked, it means one of the girls is taking a shower.” Her voice took on a hard tone. “In which case, don’t even think about going inside.”
Drew barked a laugh. “Cora, babe, we’re not here for your girls.”
“Yeah, well, supposedly, neither was Hugo.”
According to the half-empty economy box of condoms in the corner of his room, she was wrong. I didn’t inform her of this. I kept listening.
“Okay, how about this. Penn or I get the taste to take a woman to bed, we’ll head into town, hit one of the bars, lie about how much money we make, take ’em back to their place, and then sneak out the next morning before they wake up.”
“Wow. How very chivalrous of you,” she deadpanned, and as much as I wanted to deny it, her being a smartass made my lips twitch.
“We do what we can,” Drew replied.
“Right. As long as you’re doing it somewhere else, we’ll be just fine.”
Drew laughed and then both of their voices grew distant. But I didn’t turn around. I just stood there, my knuckles turning white on the handle of my duffel bag as I stared at that bedroom, dread and impatience settling in my stomach.
Jesus Christ. How had I ended up there?
My lids fell closed, twenty-nine minutes of memories bombarding me.
“No, please!” she screamed as she fell to the foot of the bed, crimson blood seeping through her pale-pink shirt.
One in. One out.
The stale, stagnant air that filled my nostrils did nothing to tame my demons, but it did wonders to remind me where I was—and, most importantly, where I wasn’t.
Her perfume didn’t linger in that apartment.
Her clothes didn’t fill the closet.
Her herb garden she loved so much didn’t sit dead and overrun by weeds on the back deck.
Her smiling, carefree face didn’t hang in images on the walls, tormenting me.
No. That rancid, stomach-churning apartment was exactly where I needed to be.
One in. One out.
I startled when Drew’s hand came down on my shoulder.
“Jesus, man. You going deaf?”
Swallowing hard, I packed down four years of regrets and turned to face him. “Sorry. She gone?”
His thick eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah…she’s gone.”
“Good.” I walked back down the hall, settled my bag on the counter, and parked my ass on a wooden barstool—the only surface I was willing to touch.
“How the hell do you think you’re going to get shit done around here when you’re acting like the boss lady is Medusa’s evil twin?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Right.” He shook his head and wandered around the counter to a small galley kitchen that had seen better days—like, say, the seventies. “Though, after today, I might need you to continue acting like a mentally unstable asshole to level the playing field for me.” He let out a low whistle. “Did you see her ass?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
A loud, condescending laugh bubbled from his throat. “I’ll take that as Penn the Priest noticed her ass too?”
Actually, I’d noticed a lot of things about Cora Guerrero.
Things like the way that simple turquoise tank top had hugged her, tracing and accentuating curves no woman that small should have possessed. And how her bra had been too thin because, as she gave us a tour of the building, it was her peaked nipples that gave the real show. And the fact that she’d been wearing a pair of tight ripped-at-the-knees jeans that rode so low on her hips that, as she walked up the stairs, the tan skin of her lower back peeked out, teasing a starving man—and maybe Drew too.
