Page 13 of The Silent Hour

Eventually, Toya polished off the last of the sweet and sour chicken directly from the carton and announced she was calling a car, turning down Ethan's offer to crash in the guest room again with a wave of her chopstick.

"I have a home," she informed him.

"You had one this morning too."

"Sure did, and don’t forget I know where you live so don’t try anything slick with my girl.”

He laughed as she hugged me before leaving, her braids tickling my cheek, lingering just long enough to murmur, "Make good choices," into my ear.

I pulled back and stared at her. She grinned and added a little louder. “Or interesting ones."

"Goodbye, Latoya."

Her cackle followed her all the way to the elevator, and then the doors swallowed it whole. The penthouse went quiet, but not in a awkward way.

The city still burned amber and white beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, almost decorative. I reached for the fresh the sparkling water he'd set in front of me and curled into the far end of the sofa, tucking one leg beneath me. The leather was warm from where we'd been sitting all evening.

Being alone with him again didn't make me nervous.

That was the part making me nervous.

I knew more about him now than I had that morning. I knew he'd become a lawyer because of something that had happened to someone he loved, and that he'd never quite said it that plainly, but I'd heard it anyway. I knew about his chosen brothers, his sister, his parents—his mother's cooking, his father's handshake. I knew what he read on planes, what he ordered when he wasn't trying to impress anyone, and that he held deeply offensive opinions about pineapple.

He knew about my music. My friends. My family. He knew exactly whose daughter he'd brought home and hadn't so much as blinked.

Maybe that was why this felt so easy. Or maybe easy was precisely what I should've been worried about.

"I shouldn't say this," I admitted, turning the cold glass between my palms, "but I feel... comfortable around you. Maybe too comfortable."

He leaned back against the opposite armrest, sleeves pushed to his forearms, the ink there catching the low light as he settled in. His dark eyes found mine across the length of the sofa.

"That's not a bad thing, Julia."

"It kinda feels like one." I smiled faintly, trying to shrug off the admission. "I know this is cliché, but I don't normally do this."

"Do what?"

I gestured at the half-cleared coffee table, the city behind him, the whole evening. "Any of this. Meet some man in a club, wake up at his place, spend the entire next day with him like I've known him longer than twenty-four hours."

His mouth curved, slow and sure. "Good."

I narrowed my eyes. "Good?"

"I'd like to think there's something different about me."

I laughed softly. "That was confident."

"Accurate."

"Debatable,” I argued.

"You're still here."

Well. He had me there. I looked down at the water bottle in my hands, fighting the smile threatening my mouth. "You really are a lawyer."

"I warned you."

When I looked at him again, something had shifted. Or maybe I'd simply stopped pretending I hadn't felt it shifting all day. His gaze dropped to my mouth for the briefest second before returning to my eyes.