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“That was deeply entertaining.”

Riley scowled at her best friend. “I aim to please.”

She marched over to the dryer and stabbed at the buttons.

“And I love you for it.” Kristi swept her hair over her shoulder and rolled up the bag of chips, leaving them on the kitchen counter. “Wine’s in the fridge. It’s a white.”

Riley shot a glare over her shoulder as Kristi walked over to her.

“Did you have to be as dramatic as humanly possible?”

“Of course. If he isn’t amused, he’s not for you. Kisses!” Kristi grabbed Riley’s shoulders and gave her exaggerated air kisses on both sides of her face. Riley breathed in Kristi’s perfume, and her mouth twitched as she smiled against her will.

It was funny—or would have been if she hadn’t almost expired from mortification.

The bathroom door opened again.

Kristi’s eyes flattened as she looked over Riley’s head, and there was a flicker of something bleak and cold.

It didn’t look right in her blue eyes.

Riley grabbed Kristi’s hand, pulling it down from her shoulder. “I’ll call you.” Riley squeezed. “Please, go.”

Kristi’s gaze dropped to Riley’s face before she nodded and smoothed a cocky smile back on her face. Riley’s fingers tightened before she made herself let go.

“You kids have fun!” Kristi winked at her and strode out of Riley’s apartment as quickly as she’d arrived. The door rattled in its frame as it slammed shut, and the apartment felt strangely empty.



Saint

Saint leaned against the counter next to the empty take-out containers. The tension he normally carried had drained away at some point over the day and left his limbs heavy. They’d lapsed into an easy silence after he’d talked more than he had in months—Riley had looked up at him with her big eyes, and he hadn’t been able to stop.

He’d only ever felt this comfortable with a handful of people.

She sat across from him on the counter, chin on her knee, and glanced at the too-short purple flower pants. She grinned at him without hiding or turning away, and it made her eyes bright and soft. Something warm built under his ribs, some sort of pride that he was responsible for that look. Over the course of one day, keeping that expression there had moved to the top of his priority list.

The dryer was a steady beat throughout Riley’s small apartment. The building was old and run-down, but she’d done what she could with plants and colourful pillows and blankets. No art on the walls, and all the furniture was the cheap kind that came in a box with crappy instructions.

She hadn’t lived here long.

She sat on the counter in dry pyjamas. Her damp hair was twisted in a knot on top of her head, and it smelled like flowers. She blinked slowly, a soft, tired smile on her face.

Saint’s phone buzzed as Wheeler graciously agreed to bring his truck so Saint could grab his bike. He didn’t want to ride in the pissing rain. It was a little too early for a sleepover, and Riley was too polite to tell him to get out.

Saint didn’t spend time with polite women.

He never stayed the night, he didn’t talk about his past, and he didn’t memorize the way their noses wrinkled when they laughed.

He didn’t date. On principle.

His principles might need adjustment.

She tossed the bag of chips over to him after she took a few, and he looked at it for a moment. Earlier, Kristi had waltzed right into the apartment, like she owned it. He’d grabbed his knife without thinking about it before he’d placed the voice as friendly.

Would that have bothered her? It should.

The windows above the bed had wood dowelling to stop them from being jimmied open, but they were single-paned and would break if he breathed on them. Not to mention the door. The chain lock was barely screwed into the framing.