Page 19 of Liquids

He studies my face for a minute. “I get that.” He picks up a strand of my brown hair and twists it around his finger. “What keeps you going, though, when life gets shit?”

“I dunno. Escape.” I grin. “Booze.”

“Well, we’ll have to find you something better than that.”

I stare at him. How can he say he’s no good long-term when he talks like this? Dammit, I wish he didn’t make me curious.

A muffled beeping noise cuts through the quiet, and I frown at him, then my eyes widen.

“Crap, that’s my alarm.” I lean over and grab my phone off the nightstand. 8:15 a.m. “Jesus Christ.”

I shoot off him and out of bed, scrabbling around on the carpet. I can remember my hand shooting out the second time we had sex and catching everything, tipping it all onto the floor.

He grins at my panic and puts his hands behind his head.

“What you work at?”

“I’m a caregiver. Got a few old ladies I take care of.”

“You like it?”

I shrug. “It’s a job.”

“Same with me with rigging.”

“You like fighting?” I say as I dash to the bathroom.

“Like it while I’m riled up and doing it, not so much afterward when I can’t fucking walk.” His voice drifts through as I close the door.

I turn on the shower and stare at myself in the mirror. Long curly brown hair, tired gray eyes, but hey, they’re not bloodshot. Not looking so bad this morning. Not hungover for the first time in forever.

I dart into the stream of tepid water, gasping.

“When you’ve got more time, I’m joining you in there,” he shouts through the door, and I laugh.

“Anytime.”

He says something that sounds like “Don’t tempt me.” Then he yells, “Whaddya want for breakfast?”

My alarm leaves me only fifteen minutes to get up and out. “No time!”

“I’ll make you something to go. Tell me what or it’ll be random!”

“Coffee, just coffee.”

I soap up fast and rinse and then I’m out, scrabbling for clean underwear in my drawer and pulling my uniform out of the dryer. I dart back into the bathroom and dab on some concealer and brush mascara over my lashes. That’ll have to do. I’m twisting my hair up into a scrunchie as I head into the kitchen, and I grab my coat and bag from the hook by the door as he taps my arm. He’s got a Saran-wrapped sandwich and a thermos of coffee sitting in his big paw. That was fast.

“It’s instant. Best I could do in ten minutes.”

I blink at him in awe. Nobody’s done that for me since … well … since my dad died. “Thank you, I …”

“Got an ulterior motive, babe.”

I like how direct he is. Some women would take offense at the things he says to me, but I know who and what I am, and I’ve been around the block too many times with too many guys who want one thing and say another. This is oh so different.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I need to keep my head down for a bit: a coupla nights here, maybe more. A lot of people are mad about what happened last night, and they’re looking for me. Don’t want to be in the trailer when a bunch of men with baseball bats turn up. I can hold my own, but not against a mob.”