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“It’s okay,” he said. “They’re probably just jealous because they can’t grow facial hair.”
“Hey!” William yelled back. “We can—we’re just not allowed to.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
The other firefighters razzed William as Gabe walked away.
“We’ll work this out on the court!” William called.
“You got it,” Gabe answered, happy for the excuse to get in a little time on the fire station’s outdoor basketball court. They seemed to pick up games at all hours of the morning and night, and Gabe missed the public courts near his apartment in Cincinnati.
“Night, Lauren,” he said as she headed toward her car and he set out for his apartment on foot. He was keenly aware that Veronica’s building was on his way.
If he took a right at the next street, he’d miss her place by one block. He could walk home, go for a run, relax with a book afterward. And be distracted the whole time that she might be waiting to hear from him.
He’d promised her, after all. He didn’t have to take her up on her...request, but he did have to get in touch. Tonight or tomorrow or at her next performance.
The idea of leaving it until next Thursday tightened his shoulders into such painful knots that Gabe went straight through the intersection and headed toward Veronica’s apartment. Hell, the most likely outcome was that she didn’t remember anything and he could try to forget the whole thing, too.
“Yeah, right,” he muttered. Still, at least he wouldn’t have to wonder if she was worrying.
And there was the chance that she remembered every detail and wanted to pick up where they’d left off.
He took off his tie, freed the top button of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves as if he were preparing himself for an arduous task. Two more blocks and he was at her condo building. He turned up her walk and then knocked on the door without giving himself time to think about it.
The nearest window was sealed up tight, but he could see light through the peephole in the door. He waited a few moments, listening for the sound of footsteps, then rang the doorbell.
Still nothing. The street was quiet out front. He leaned closer, trying to tell if the faint sound of movement he’d heard was coming from her place. Nothing. He was turning to leave when he saw the light in the peephole flicker to dark for a split second. He squared his shoulders, trying to think what he’d say when she opened the door.
She didn’t open the door.
He frowned. Leaned closer. Lifted his hand to knock again, but he let his knuckles hover just above the wood.
“Veronica?” he called. She didn’t respond. “It’s Gabe. Gabe MacKenzie. From last night.”
There was a soft sound, like a breath or the brush of fabric. He waited for the lock to click open. It didn’t.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Veronica?”
“I’m fine,” she finally said through the wood.
His tight shoulders relaxed. “Good. I thought you might be a little hungover.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice more muffled now. “A little.”
“Are you up for talking?”
The wood stared silently at him.
He winced and lowered his voice. “Listen, Veronica, it’s no big deal.”
The lock finally clicked. The door swung in. He was startled to see her without her heels again, inches shorter than he expected her to be. She looked different in other ways, too. Younger, really, her blue eyes naked of makeup and her face a little paler. She crossed her arms snugly over the plain gray T-shirt she wore.
“We don’t need to talk,” she said.
“Are you sure? I did make you a promise.” He offered a smile, but she only cringed.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “Like, really, really sorry.”
