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She leaned up against the kitchen counter and folded her arms. “My borrowed apartment, my rules.”
I dug the phone out, not thrilled when I saw it was a number I didn’t recognize. Hiding something or not, I never answered those.
“Sloane—”
“You heard me, Tackle.”
I hit the accept button. “Sorenson.”
“Tackle, finally, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.” Nick sounded out of breath but was talking loudly enough that there was no way Sloane hadn’t heard every word she said.
“I need to call you back.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up. I can’t stay here. You need to come and get me.”
“I’ll call you back, Nick.”
“Time to say good night,” said Sloane, cleaning up the remnants of our dinner.
“There was a reason I told Nick I needed to call her back, and it isn’t because I don’t want you to hear what I have to say.”
“Or her?”
“Can we sit?”
“Whatever you need to say—” Sloane clapped her hand over her mouth and raced off in the direction of the bathroom. Not knowing what else to do, I followed and stood outside the door when she slammed it closed. I leaned up against the wall and waited. I moved a couple of feet away when I heard the water running in the sink. Seconds later, she came out, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Is there anything I can do?”
She shook her head. “I’m going to bed.” When I followed again, Sloane stopped at the room’s doorway. “Tackle, you need to leave.”
I reached out and felt her forehead. “No fever.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“I’m worried about you, Sloane. You’ve been sick since Christmas.”
“I have a doctor’s appointment scheduled.”
“When?”
She glared at me, put one hand on her hip, and pointed toward the door with the other.
“I’ll sleep on the sofa, but I’m not leaving.”
“I want to be left alone.”
I rested my arm on the doorjamb. “I can always call Mama Clarkson.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
I pulled out my phone.
“What about your other phone call? You promised Nick you’d call her back.”
“That can wait.”
“Of course it can. Just leave, Tackle. Leave. I’m not kidding.”
