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“Fine.”
I bend over to remove my shoes but don’t get far before I’m picked up bridal-style in his arms. I flounder, surprised. “What are you doing?”
“You were taking too long. This is easier. Shut up and relax.”
“I hope you know I’m not sleeping with you,” I tell him as I watch him.
My head rests on his shoulder, and I watch as his jaw works, biting back something undoubtedly nasty. Instead, he ignores me, looking down the busy DC street.
I stay silent this time.
* * *
We get back to my apartment quickly, and I’m thankful that there’s no one there. No cops, no family members trying to bother me, no one. I have my peace and quiet.
“I’m coming up with you,” Ronan tells me, and I roll my eyes. Apparently, I don’t. God has favorites, and I am not one of them.
I haven’t decided whether I trust him or not. I feel stupid for doing so, especially because he wouldn’t answer a single question I asked him, includinghow the hell he knew my address,which, to be honest, I figured was because he’s probably some type of private detective. Unfortunately, I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with those, so I’m familiar with how easy it can be to figure out where someone lives.
No matter how disconnected from social media I am, and no matter how careful I am about giving out my address anywhere, someone always manages to find it. But none of them have ever been like this.
They mostly asked if I knew how to get in contact with my parents. It turns out it’s hard to get ahold of you when you're murderous criminals.
But the man didn’t answer a single one of my questions, not even when I asked him what his favorite color was. I’m sure it’s purple.
“I’ll be fine by myself,” I say, unlocking my front door.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You really need to tell me what’s going on, Ronan, or I’m just going to call the police. You have to understand how fucking weird this is.”
He sighs again, and I can’t help but wonder if he sighs a lot normally or if it’s just me. It’s probably just me, and for some reason, that gives me some sense of joy.
“I can explain later, but for now, you need to get some rest,” he tells me, shutting the door behind me.
Thunk.
Ronan’s head whips to the bedroom, his eyes wide as he whips something out of his back pocket.
“Is that a fucking gun?” I ask, talking myself out of smacking it out of his hand. There are a couple of things not allowed in my apartment, that being at the very top of the list. I hate guns. There’s nothing about them I enjoy, and I’d much rather use these fists of steel to protect myself.
Not that they would be much use, but I decided a long time ago that if it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go.
He brings his finger to his lips, telling me to be quiet before he starts creeping toward the bedroom.
I follow close behind him, careful to keep quiet as we make our way across the hardwood floor of my family room to the closed door on the other side.
Ronan positions himself outside the door, his gun poised in front of him, pointed at the ground as he motions for me to get behind him. I do, looking around.
“I think I should tell you now that I have a cat, and if you shoot him, you’re a dead man,” I whisper, and he looks at me, eyes hard as he continues.
Slowly, Ronan opens the door, peering inside for a moment before stepping in.
Suddenly, from the dark comes a small chirp.
“What the hell is that?” Ronan asks, putting his gun down.
I roll my eyes, stepping into the room and bending over to pick up my small grey cat. “I told you, I have a cat,” Petting his soft head, he lets out a small chirp. “Now put your gun away, you trigger-happy twit; you’re scaring him.”
