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Especially not braless.

I have to summon every ounce of feminism in my body not to let my gaze drop to her nipples, made just hard enough in the apartment’s cool air that I can see them through her tank top. It doesn’t even have a design on the front that I can play off as the reason for my glance.

Charli pulls the sweatshirt off and then sets it beside her. I don’t know if there was a secret signal somewhere, but Milton immediately jumps onto it and makes himself a little nest.

“Has he ever what?” Charli asks.

I shake my head to clear the haze. “Uh…has he— I mean, I was just curious if he— Has he ever hurt you?”

What a stupid question.

Thankfully, Charli just looks amused. “No, Milton has never hurt me. Maybe a couple scratches accidentally, but he’s not exactly a feral cat.”

“Do you know where they rescued him from?” I’m trying desperately to get the conversation back to where I can focus.

But when Charli leans forward to grab a fry off the coffee table, her tank top rides up and exposes lower back dimples.

“He was found in a cat colony in New York City,” Charli explains, oblivious to my focus issues. “Someone had been feeding them, though, so they weren’t all feral. Just overpopulated.” She reaches over to pet Milton behind the ears, her expression softening. “And Milton was just a kitten, anyway. I got him right after he was weaned from his mother.”

I watch as Milton closes his eyes and leans into Charli’s touch, his purr loud enough that I can hear it. It’s obvious these two are soulmates in the way that people sometimes are with pets. Distantly, I wonder if they are the only thing keeping the loneliness at bay for both of them.

I’m so tempted to ask Charli more. I want to know why she reacted the way she did to my questions about her parents. I want to know if she has friends, even online friends, or if it really is just her and Milton.

I just don’t know if she’s ready for me to ask.

So for now, I’ll take what I can get: soaking up the crumbs she drops during a day not in the office.

And I just hope that I can do it all over again tomorrow while I still have her here.

SIXTEEN

CHARLI

On Sunday morning, I wake up to the sensation of Milton biting my toes.

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” I groan, reaching over to glance at the clock. “Why are you biting me? It’s not breakfast time yet.”

Lucas and I stayed on the couch until nearly 10 p.m. last night. If the movie ending hadn’t marked the late hour, it’s possible I would have stayed out there past midnight. That’s how much fun I had yesterday.

I roll onto my back with a sigh and stare up at the ceiling. This is dangerous. I shouldn’t be spending time with Lucas—and enjoying it. Partly because he’s my kind-of boss, but mostly because he’s not the type of person I usually surround myself with.

After the shit with my dad, I try to lean as far in the opposite direction as possible. Even the friends I’ve accumulated online are considered white hats. I need good, moral people who want to make the world a better place. Not…whatever Lucas’s firm stands for.

Which is why it’s annoying that I like spending time with him. And that I don’t think he stands for those things on purpose, but because he’s fallen into the life without meaning to.

I pull myself out of bed with a sigh. I need to distance myself today. I have granola bars and snacks in my bag; I can just hole up in here and work. I don’t need another day of philosophizing and feeling my respect for Lucas’s brain grow any more than it already has.

Milton lets it be known that he’s unhappy about being cooped up, but I hold firm on my plan. For the next few hours, I continue working on my laptop, munching on the snacks I brought with me and only occasionally wondering about what Lucas is doing today. I don’t hear the front door open, but I also don’t hear much of Lucas moving around.

Maybe he wants distance, too.

I try not to be bothered by that thought. I know he enjoyed yesterday just as much as I did. But I also know I’m not his usual company, and that any interest he has in me is solely because I intrigue him. Once my case is over, he’ll forget all about me.

I manage to work until 5 p.m. before my body starts demanding real food. The third time my stomach rumbles, it’s loud enough to wake Milton from his nap.

I sigh, about to give up on my plan to stay holed up here all day, when my phone rings. My landlord.

Fuck.