The elevator stops, doors sliding open to reveal Alyssa’s hallway. I step out first, moving ahead of Gray. He keeps pace easily, those long legs covering ground without effort. It’s annoying how athletic he is, how he seems to move through the world without the same effort as normal people.
“This is pointless,” I mutter as we approach Alyssa’s door. “She probably won’t even be home.”
“Then we leave,” Gray says simply. “Problem solved.”
I shoot him a glare, jamming my finger against Alyssa’s doorbell harder than necessary. “I didn’t ask for your input.”
The chime echoes inside, but no footsteps follow. No voice calls out. I try again, holding it longer this time.
Nothing.
I check my phone again. Still no messages. A knot forms in my stomach. Not quite worry, but something adjacent to it. Where is she? What happened after I left last night? Did she get home safe?
“Try calling,” Gray suggests.
“No shit.” I pull up her number and dial. It rings four times before going to voicemail. “Fuck.”
I hit redial. This time, it only rings twice before disconnecting. She declined the call.
“She’s screening me.”
Gray doesn’t respond, but his eyes narrow slightly.
I hit the doorbell again, holding it down, so the chime becomes one continuous, annoying buzz. If she’s in there, this will drive her nuts.
Finally, I hear movement inside. Soft footsteps, a pause, then the sound of locks turning.
The door cracks open to reveal Alyssa, looking like she just rolled out of bed. Her hair is tangled, makeup smeared under her eyes, wearing an oversized T-shirt that hits mid-thigh. She squints at the light from the hallway.
“Wyatt? What the fuck? It’s like…early.” Her voice is raspy, either from sleep or too many cigarettes last night.
“It’s past three in the afternoon,” I point out, pushing past her into the apartment. Gray follows silently, closing the door behind us.
Alyssa’s place smells like expensive candles and stale alcohol. Empty wine glasses sit on the coffee table next to a half-eaten container of takeout. The blinds are drawn, casting the room in a dim glow.
“What are you doing here?” She rubs her eyes, smearing more mascara across her cheeks.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. You and Zeke both. Neither of you was answering.”
“I was sleeping.” She flops onto the couch, pulling her legs up under her. “Some of us didn’t get manhandled out of the club before the real fun started.”
I wince at the reminder.
“Seriously, what the fuck happened? One minute you’re there, the next you’re being carried out like luggage.” She laughs, but there’s something forced about it.
“Ask the caveman.” I jerk a thumb toward Gray, who doesn’t react. “Apparently he thought you guys were about to do something stupid.”
Alyssa’s eyes dart to Gray, then back to me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He saw what you and Zeke were doing,” I say, watching her face carefully. “The packet.”
She licks her lips, a nervous gesture I’ve seen a hundred times. “Oh, that. Just a little pick-me-up. Nothing major.”
“In the middle of the VIP section? With cameras everywhere?”
“Please, like anyone cares. Everyone was doing it.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Anyway, after you left, we just kept the party going. Z ordered more bottles, we danced…the usual.”
Something about her tone doesn’t sit right. She’s talking too fast, eyes not quite meeting mine.
