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“Last chance.” I hold up the shake to finish it off.
“No thanks. I'd rather die.”
“Dramatic much?”
“Says the man preparing for the apocalypse with grilled chicken and protein powder.”
“I’ll remember that when you come running from the zombies begging for a banana shake.” I fight back a laugh and reach into the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “Anyway, so what is the plan today?”
“Work.”
“I figured that part out.”
Laney moves past me to grab her bag, close enough that I catch that scent again.
Warm and sweet. Almost vanilla, but not quite. I can’t put my finger on it. Whatever it is, it’s been following her around my apartment since she walked downstairs.
She drops the protein bar into her bag. “I have an apartment showing after.”
That gets my attention. “You found one already?”
“Maybe.” She hooks her bag over the back of the stool. “It looked decent online.”
“Where?”
She rattles off the address, and the neighborhood registers before she even finishes. The water bottle stops halfway to my mouth. “No.”
She looks up. “No, what?”
I set the bottle on the counter and lean against it. “It’s not a great area, Becks.”
Her shoulders straighten. “I can decide that for myself.”
I know that tone. And after everything she told me about wanting to do this on her own, I know better than to tell her what she can and can’t do.
So I change tactics. “What time?”
“The showing?”
“No, your dentist appointment.”
She rolls her eyes. “Five-thirty.”
“I’ll pick you up from work.”
She pauses with one arm through her coat. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“I can get there myself.”
“I’m sure you can.”
Her eyes narrow. “Bishop.”
“Laney.”
She shoves her other arm into her coat. “I don’t need you chauffeuring me around Chicago.”
