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Tyler had asked if she wanted to take a shower to clean up a bit, which she’d assumed was an implication that it was time for her to earn a place to sleep for the night. Kind of like when boys took you out to dinner and a movie and then expected a little somethin’-somethin’ in the car before they took you home, but on a whole new level.
But no, she’d climbed in the steaming hot shower alone and stayed that way. She took her time, too, not knowing when she’d get another chance to spend more than five minutes in a shower before someone started screaming at her.
And later, when she’d emerged with pinned up damp hair and yoga sweats, Tyler had been killing the lights in the apartment.
“Stay up and watch TV if you want,” he’d said. “I’m going to bed. I’ve got an eight a.m. class.” Then he’d taken a quick look in the second bedroom and said, “Do you want an extra blanket?”
Pretty clear where he’d expected her to sleep.
Thinking about it now, she wondered if she’d messed something up.
You going to judge me for something Seth did?
She had no idea how to read him. He’d said terrible things to her in Nick’s driveway—though he’d talked his way out of those. But then that night behind the 7-Eleven, when he’d burned her . . . was that a cruel side of Tyler, the way boys would yank the wings off flies, or was that a panicked side trying to figure out what dangers were affecting the Elementals in town, using the only leverage he could find?
And here she was, sleeping in his spare room. After he’d helped her get her things and protected her from an addict and a dealer. That had to count for something.
No, a lot. That had to count for a lot.
The guitar music kept up, and she listened, thinking of Nick, of the night he’d told her his family secret, the way the air had carried her.
She thought of how much he hated Tyler, and wished she knew how to reconcile all these facets of the same guy.
The guitar music changed, becoming something more lively.
Still muffled, still at a distance, but enough that she could pick out the rhythm and melody. Was someone outside? But they were on the third floor.
She swung her legs onto the velvet softness of the carpeting, padding into the doorway. Definitely outside.
She peeked through Tyler’s doorway, expecting to either find him asleep, or sitting up in bed, as confused about the music as she was.
His bed was empty.
The light over the sink was on, casting a soft glow across half the apartment. Quinn approached the glass door that led to the porch, seeing that someone was indeed out there, sprawled on one of the porch chairs, a guitar in his lap.
Tyler.
Quinn slid the glass door open. “What happened to your eight o’clock class?”
“Nothing. I couldn’t sleep.” He was good enough that he didn’t lose the rhythm or the melody. “Did I wake you?”
“You’re probably waking half the building.”
“Doubt it.” She opened her mouth to fire back, but he nodded at the opposite chair. “Want to join me?”
Like she had anything better to do. She dragged the door closed behind her and eased into the vinyl chair. It was way too cold for a tank top and stretch pants, but she was used to being underdressed for the weather. She caught a whiff of smoke in the air, then saw the lit cigarette perched on an ashtray on the table beside him. A beer sat there with it.
Definitely way too old for her. She didn’t give a crap.
“You’re very good,” she said quietly.
“Thanks,” he said equably.
“Do you sing, too?”
She’d been kidding, but he nodded. He didn’t demonstrate, however.
“I don’t get a show?” she mocked, thinking of his comments when she was dancing in the woods.
