That gets her head up.
“The locks are inadequate. The fire escape is a problem. There’s no alarm. The lobby has more holes than fence wire. I don’t want you alone in this apartment tonight. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“I’ve been living here for years, and nothing has ever happened. I’m perfectly safe.”
“You’re not safe at all.”
“You’re being over the top.” She crosses her arms. “One unpleasant encounter at a grocery store does not mean someone is going to climb my fire escape with a knife between their teeth. Tomorrow you can do all of…whatever you need to do. I will be absolutely fine until then.”
“But you might not be.”
“I will be,” she insists.
“I can sleep on the sofa.”
“That’s completely unnecessary.”
“You won’t even know I’m here,” I tell her.
That earns me a look I deserve.
“I think we both know I’d know you were here.” Her voice is a little strained.
“One night.” I put up a finger.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I appreciate it. I really do. My answer is absolutely not. If you are finished with your checks, you can leave. You can have free rein of the place tomorrow. You can have my spare set of keys. How’s that?”
“I don’t like it at all, but what choice do I have?”
“None.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “You have my number. I want you to use it if you need it. If you hear something. If something feels off. I would rather you call for nothing than if…” I don’t finish. “It doesn’t matter what time it is.”
“I won’t need to call you.”
“I hope not.”
She puffs out a small laugh and waves me toward the door. “I’m going to be fine. I’m a grown woman. I’ve been managing my own apartment for years.”
I don’t move.
I want to argue with her again. I want to plant my feet in this hallway and tell her I’m staying. It would be irrational. She’s right. I’m being overprotective. Then again, she is my responsibility.
“Okay,” I push out.
“Okay?”
“For tonight. Tomorrow, first thing, my team will be here.”
“That’s fair.”
We walk back down the hallway together. The pharmacy bag is still on the counter, which makes me think of the contents.
I stop and turn to face her.
“Is there someone you can call tonight? A boyfriend, maybe?” I look over at the bag that contains a giant box of condoms and a box of banana-flavored ones, too. Banana? What’s up with that? That’s a lot of condoms for someone who is single.
I hate the idea of her having a boyfriend. Shifters are built that way, so I don’t overthink it. We don’t like to share. I fucked her, and now I don’t want to share her. It’s stupid, but I can’t help biology. I can override it with logical thinking, which is what I am doing right now.
