Page 11 of Antihero

“Stop,” Evan said.

Luke stopped.

“You said there’s a girl there. In your bed.”

“Yes. Yes. A young woman.”

Evan took a four count to draw in a breath. He held it.

“Mr. Nowhere? Why are you quiet? That’s a—That’s a terrifying silence.”

“How old is she?”

A rush of an exhale. “Twenty-six. I’m not like that.”

“You said she’s upset. Why is she upset?”

“I don’t know. Hang on.” Then, muffled: “Why are you upset?” Another pause. “I don’t know. She’s still not answering. She’s curled up in the bed.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened. I didn’t even have sex with her. I couldn’t figure it out.”

Evan let that pass, stayed on the seam of inquiry. “Does she need medical attention?”

“No.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Drugs?”

“What?”

“Is she on drugs?”

“No, no, no, no, no. At least nothing serious. Champagne. Very fine champagne. In fact, do you know there were only ninety bottles at the royal wedding when—”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Are you on drugs?”

“Just the usual.”

“Which is?”

“Sixty grams of indica to slow things down. A half liter of booze by now. Maybe two-thirds? Oh—and ketamine.”

“Special K?”

“Not club. Prescribed.”

“Okay. So: your average Saturday morning.”

“Yes! Exactly. Don’t go freaking out and getting lethal.”