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Jesse gets up and walks away from me. He stands on the other end of the room for a minute, swearing under his breath. He presses his fists to the top of a table, bowing his head, and then he comes back.
“I’m staying here tonight.”
“What? I— There’s no chance in fucking hell. No way.”
“I’ll sleep in the diner. You’re not staying here on your own tonight, do you understand?”
Jesse’s tone brooks no argument, and even though I despise this man, he laid his life on the line for me.
“What are you even doing here?” I ask.
He hesitates. “That’s not important. What’s important is that you’re safe.”
“Fine,” I say. “Fine.”
Because though I hate to admit it, I’m afraid of being alone after that. Even if he’s down here, and I’m up in my apartment alone.
Sirens wail nearby, and I shut my eyes.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“Whatever you need, Angel.”
The reply is soft, and his footsteps retreat to the front of the diner.
Eleven
JESSE
I’ve spentthe night in the diner, alternating between pacing and hanging out in one of the diner booths. I want to keep her safe. I shouldn’t want to, but I do. The fear in her eyes last night made me feel capable of cold-blooded murder. And the fact that her brother is connected to what’s going on makes the situation worse. More complicated.
But I have a plan. One that could benefit us both.
The door that leads to Marci’s apartment opens. She comes out tired but fucking gorgeous as always. Marci’s always been beautiful, and she’s always been full of shit. The combination is strangely irresistible.
“Good morning,” I say.
“What’s good about it?” She narrows her eyes at me and then heads toward the counter. “The usual?”
“Sure.”
Marci fixes two cups of coffee, and I head over to join her. “How’d you sleep?”
She shrugs, taking a sip from her cup.
I leave mine untouched on the counter. Fuck. Am I really going to do this? Marci hates me with a passion that could light a thousand campfires, and the tension between us isn’t helping.
“Nothing happened last night,” Marci says. “So, guess you can scuttle off back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”
There’s a crass pun about holes I’d like to make, but that’s a step too far, even for me.
“Speaking of things that scuttle,” I say. “What are you going to do about Billy?”
“Don’t start with me, Taylor.”
“You started first, Angel.”
“I donotwant to discuss last night. Not with you, or anyone else. I’m still… Look, I didn’t want to get the cops involved.”
