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“Fearful incitement is not a thing.”
“Look, Mr. Naked Guy on My Couch, this has all been super weird, but if you could just go ahead and leave, I promise I won’t file charges.”
“If you want to get technical, you’re the one breaking and entering.”
“I have a key!” She held up a key chain that also had a pink fluffy thing attached to it. But more importantly, it had a key. The same key I had on my keyring. And I knew immediately that she’d gotten it legitimately because it looked exactly like mine. Aunt Nattie loved picking out the “fun” keys at the hardware store and she’d been in a Pokémon phase when she’d selected the keys for this rental, evidently.
I walked to the entry table where I’d dropped my keys and picked them up, holding up my own Pikachu key.
Her eyes widened and she said into the phone, “he has a Pikachu key.” She paused. “I’ll ask him.”
Then she lowered the phone and eyed me suspiciously. “Who owns this unit?”
“Nattie Trousseau,” I told her. “My aunt.”
She frowned, speaking into the phone again. “He says Nattie is his aunt.” Her frown deepened as the police evidently said something on the other end. “He said his name was Rock, if you can believe that.”
A shriek came from the police person on the other end of the intruder’s phone. Very unofficial sounding, if you asked me. But I had that effect on hockey fans.
She listened again when the shriek had subsided, and her frown deepened. “You’re a hockey player?” she asked me.
I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest and straightening.
“Figures,” she muttered. “I hate hockey. What a pointless game.”
“Those are fighting words, missy.”
“April, seriously,” she said into the phone. “I think I’ve got this. Yeah, tell Callan to relax. Okay, thanks.”
“Who is Callan? And are you on a first name basis with the cops? You find naked men in your house a lot?” I was beginning to find this situation very amusing. And the fact she’d just shit-talked the one thing that mattered to me in the world had made me want to mess with her a bit.
She shoved the phone into her jeans pocket. The jeans she wore were tight, something I let myself notice properly now. They clung to very long curvy legs accentuated by some pretty fancy high shoes. I guessed if you were going to get robbed or killed, if the intruder looked like this it was better than the alternatives. Though I could subdue this particular intruder with one hand and my eyes closed.
Which gave me a few ideas, and had things rising again down below. She was sexy in a very frustrated kind of way. But this probably wasn’t the time.
“Could you just get out?”
Definitely not the time.
“Nope. My place. I pay rent.”
“I also pay rent.”
I shook my head. That didn’t make sense. Although... it did explain the weird assortment of crap in the refrigerator.
“Hang on, so those weird Icelandic yogurts in there... you bought those?”
“You ate my yogurt?” She actually stamped her little foot and threw her fists to her sides. Adorable.
“Won’t happen again, I promise. I’ve got a new slogan for them: Taste the Sadness of Iceland.”
“They’re organic and high in protein.”
“High in yuk.”
She blew out a breath and shook her head, sending all those dark waves of hair flying. I stepped back over to the couch and sat down. The Quilters were down by two now, and all felt right with the world. “Want a beer?” I lifted my forgotten bottle in invitation.
“No! Don’t drink that. You’re not staying!”
