Page 67 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“Where the fuck were you?”

Elliot stopped. His eyes moved from Ronan to the coffee mug in his hand.

“Running.”

“At six in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“You don't run.”

“I run.”

“You own running shoes.”

“Generally useful for running.”

“Don't be a smartass.”

Elliot closed the door. The deadbolt clicked.

“I couldn't sleep.”

“So you went jogging?”

“Yes.”

“In the dark.”

“The sun came up.”

“You left your phone.”

Elliot glanced toward the stairs.

“Accident.”

Ronan stared at him. Elliot stared back. A faint line of perspiration darkened the collar of his hoodie despite the cold. He looked exactly like someone who had gone running. That should have ended it. Instead Ronan asked, “How long?” Elliot's eyebrows lifted.

“What?”

“How long were you gone?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know?”

“Forty minutes?”

Ronan looked at the mug. Elliot followed his gaze again.

“You made coffee first.”

“Yes.”

“So you woke up, made coffee, drank it, changed, went running, and came back without me waking up.”

“You sleep like you're dead.”