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“I… don’t. I mean, probably get out of bed, I would assume.”
“Assuming will get you killed. You need to be prepared.”
“What are you, Ross from Friends? You going to tell me about unagi next?”
“Isn’t that an eel?”
“That’s literally the joke from the show.” She flips her palm out. “And this is the most I’ve heard you talk, like, ever.”
“I give a shit about this.”
She freezes. “About… About what?”
“Self-defense. Keeping people safe. It’s what I do.” Until I failed at it.
“I might not have an escape route planned out, but I’ve been fine up until now.”
“You haven’t had a stalker up until now, correct?”
“Technically,” she says, pressing a hand to her chest. “But hey, I don’t know that for sure. None of us do. There could be somebody stalking me right now.”
“That’s the point.”
“Darn,” she whispers. “That made way more sense in my head.” She points at me. “I’m still mad. But, fine. Whatever. Sleep on the couch. I’m not going to be the girl who lets you sleep in an SUV because of… Anyway, doesn’t matter. Do you need a pillow and a blanket?”
“That would be nice,” I say.
Hannah stares at me for a second, then walks off and stops. She turns back around, fists on her hips. “I don’t like this either,” she says. “I want you to know that. I—I don’t like it either. This isn’t fun for me.”
“I understand.”
“No, you really don’t,” she says. “And I—” Hannah makes a zipping motion over her lips. “I really don’t know you well enough to be blabbing about this.”
“We’ll keep it that way.”
She huffs and throws her hands up before walking down the hall. She stops at the closet next to her bedroom and opens the concertina, slatted door. She mumbles under her breath for a bit then returns with a pillow and a comforter.
I go to take them from her, but she hurriedly plops them on the couch before I can get there. “Are we sure you’re going to fit on this thing?”
“I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“Right, you were in the Navy. You probably slept on cots and bunk beds and in bushes and stuff.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Hannah gnaws on the corner of her lip. “I wasn’t that drunk tonight. I had, like, two glasses of wine.”
I let the silence brew. What am I supposed to say to her? I don’t care how much she drinks or when, only that she’s safe. And that there are no men gawking at her, hovering nearby. Asshole.
Hannah puffs out her lips on an exhale. “Right. Goodnight, Savage.”
“Goodnight.” Princess.
And then she walks off to her bedroom and shuts the door. Her bedsprings creak and then she’s still. I walk through the living room and check everything’s locked up tight. Finally, I strip off my shirt and hang it over the back of a stool that flanks her kitchen counter, and cut the lights.
I lay down on the sofa that’s way too small for me, my legs and calves hanging over the edge, my arms behind my head, and wait for my mind to still. Except it won’t.
Because Hannah is right down the hall.
