Page 97 of Antihero

Evan said, “She is an evil woman.”

“Us prosecutors,” Mia said. “We’re accustomed to putting suspects under pressure.”

“What am I suspected of?”

“What aren’t you suspected of, Mr. Danger?”

The elevator returned and they got on.

As it whined upward, Mia tucked her hands behind her, leaned against the grab rail, and stared at him. “‘It’s been like a four-month orgasm,’” she repeated.

“Sounds exhausting.”

“I threw up in my mouth a little.”

“I hope they hydrated.”

“Electrolytes.”

“Deep stretching.”

“Tantric breathing.”

“IV Red Bull.”

Mia laughed her big laugh. Tugging at her bun, she let her hair cascade down around her shoulders, a beautiful mess. “You seem different, Evan.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know.” She squinted at him, the light freckles across the bridge of her nose bunching. “I’m not sure.”

They reached her floor, the twelfth, and she smacked the button to hold the car. An alarm shrilled, not too loud but designed to irritate, no doubt another Hugh-driven safety initiative.

“The break gave me some perspective,” she said. “On us. Whatever we are. Whatever we aren’t.”

Evan was unsure what he was feeling. But it was something.

He said, “And?”

“It’s a lot less confusing. Being apart.”

He waited. The alarm kept blaring. He realized she was anticipating a reply.

“What makes it confusing?”

“It just seems like…” She cocked her head, studied him. Her eyes were deep, soulful, a shimmering brown. “I live in the real world, Evan. And you don’t seem…”

“Real?”

She shrugged. “Not in a mean way. But you know what I mean.”

“If you prick me,” he said, “do I not bleed?”

Her eyes twinkled. It was a cheap word for it but that’s what they did.

“If I tickle you, do you not laugh?” quoth Mia. “If I poison you, do you not die? And if I wrong you—” She caught herself.

He said, “Shall I not revenge?”