Page 46 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“I haven't said anything.”

“You locked the door like it personally offended you.”

“That's generally what locks are for.”

“Not the way you did it.”

Elliot smiled. Ronan hung his jacket on one of the hooks beside the door.

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

“About what?”

“Locking the door.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Ronan walked toward the kitchen. Elliot followed. The carriage house felt especially warm after the motorcycle ride. The heating system hummed somewhere beneath the floorboards. A lamp they'd forgotten to turn off before leaving cast a low amber glow over the living room, illuminating the rumpled throw blanket on the couch and the books Elliot had left stacked on the coffee table that morning. Everything looked exactly as they'd left it. Elliot liked that. He liked the quiet more. No music loud enough to vibrate through his ribs. No strangers leaning across him to reach alcohol. No Dylan Price touching Ronan every time he found an excuse. Just them. Ronan opened the refrigerator.

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“Want anything?”

“No.”

Ronan looked over the refrigerator door.

“You're hovering.”

“I'm standing.”

“Two feet behind me.”

“Small kitchen.”

“It isn't.”

Elliot leaned against the island. Ronan pulled out a bottle of water. Elliot watched his throat move when he drank. Ronan lowered the bottle.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You've said nothing approximately twelve times tonight.”

“Have you been counting?”

“I've had nothing better to do.”

“You could have talked to Dylan.”

There. Ronan closed his eyes.

“Are we seriously still doing this?”