Page 24 of The Triangle

She shrugs now too, unable to give as many shits as me, I suppose. “We must’ve let him in for a reason.”

“Yeah, because that’s what he does. That’s who he is. He’s a dirty fuckin’ con man and you really don’t want to know the story I just got from my partner about what he did now.” I run my fingers through my hair. “You really don’t.”

“I killed someone.”

“Yeah.” I kinda laugh. “Thanks for that. I guess I owe you.”

“What?”

“Turns out that asshole you killed was probably gonna kill me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean shit is going down, Christine. Shit is going down and I’m in the middle of it. I think my partner was trying to get rid of me.”

“Get rid of you how?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” I say. “The only thing that matters is David, that guy you offed? He was gonna take my place.” I walk over to the fridge, take out a beer, pop the top, and gulp. When I come up for air I’m staring at her. “And you took that off the table. So uh, yeah. Thanks.”

She stares back at me.

I get a weird feeling. Like… shit, I dunno. Her intense gaze just kinda affects me that way. I lean my hip against the kitchenette counter, unsure what to say next.

“I think it’s really good to see you,” she says.

Which makes me smile. “Good to see you too, Mean Keene.”

She giggles. “No.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, unable to stop the grin as I nod my head. “That’s your name. And you know what’s worse?”

“What?”

“You picked it out.”

She almost snorts. “I did not. That’s stupid.”

“Hey.” I shrug. “You were ten. Lesson number one in the Book of Thugs. Wait until you’re old enough to wear a training bra before you choose your gangsta name.”

She stands up, snaps the metal box closed, tosses it on the couch, and walks towards me.

I think… I think my heart is beating too fast. I lock eyes with her as she slowly walks across the small living room. My t-shirt is too big on her, so it ends high-thigh. Her bare legs capture my attention and I have a second to wonder if she’s wearing anything underneath it.

She stops in front of me, one hand reaching for my beer, setting it on the counter, the other on my waist, sliding around to press against the hard muscles of my back. “What are you doing?” I breathe.

“I want to touch you for some reason.” She moves forward. Her breasts against my chest. Her head finding a home against my shoulder. She’s looking up at me with… with… I dunno. I don’t know what that is, but she’s got her arms wrapped around my middle now and it makes me want to…

“Christine,” I say, reaching around to grab her wrists and pull her off me.

“What?”

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because”—I sigh—“that’s not what we are.”

“You’re lying.”