I square my shoulders and hold my head high. “I will never haveanythingto say to you.”
I push her hand out of my way, grab my umbrella, and leave.
A lone lobsterman sitswith his head in his hands on my bottom step. Hazel eyes lift to find me as my steps echo down the alleyway.
“Hey,” Sawyer says, dusting off his jeans as he stands. “I dropped in to check on you, but Cain said you’d gone out.”
“I picked up a few groceries for lunch.” I lift my left hand, my bag and umbrella tangled together. “I was going to make chicken salad for the guys.”
“You’ve got a kind heart, Elsie Hoskins.”
“Oh, don’t canonize me as a saint just yet. I was driven by purely selfish motives.”
“Aw, yeah?”
“I didn’t want that noisy trio disappearing on a long lunch and leaving a bunch of jobs unfinished. Think it’ll work?”
“You got booze?”
I hold up the bag in my other hand. “Beer. And for the teenagers…slightly more age-appropriate…Cokes.”
Sawyer chuckles. “Yeah, it’ll work.”
The frantic beat of my heart slows. This is…nice. I like it best when Sawyer is comfortable around me. All the weathered crinkles bunch around his eyes when he smiles, and his effortless warmth never fails to snare me into smiling back.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me,” he says. “I acted like a royal ass at the beach, but I didn’t want to leave things unsaid between us.” He sighs. “I’m sorry I shut you down yesterday. Can we talk about what happened?”
“Do you want to come upstairs?”
He flicks a wary look to the front door. Is he worried about having an audience? The apartment is overflowing with people, and the hammering echoes even in the alleyway. But my question wasn’t really optional. I head up.
“If you’re going to let me down gently,” I call out when he doesn’t follow. “I’d prefer we don’t do this in the alley.”
The stairs groan under his weight. “I guess Cain hasn’t fixed these yet,” he mutters.
The front door is already wide open. I drop my groceries at my feet, prop my umbrella against the wall, and turn to Sawyer as I unknot the belt around my coat.
“Do you want me to put the kettle on?” I ask.
“Ah, no… Could we…?” He points to the bedroom door.
My pulse flutters. Sawyer. In my bedroom. Did I make the bed? The entire apartment is a construction zone, but I’m sure I tidied up in there.
“Y-yeah…” I stumble in the opposite direction. “I’ll just drop this in the kitchen…”
I unceremoniously dump the grocery bags on the countertop—and get raised brows from Cain—and suck in a few breaths.
One conversation. I can handle one conversation.
Repeating the lie to myself, I head to my doom.
The heads of two teenagers pop around the corner.
“Sawyer’s taking her into the bedroom,” one of them whispers.
“Are they going to screw?”
“Boys,” Sawyer growls.
