Page 53 of Daring You

I shed my jacket on one of her bar stools, unable to prevent the wide-ranging study of the place she shares with Mike.

It’s almost as cold as the winter outside.

There aren’t many pictures, very few knick-knacks, and a lot of stainless steel. It’s the kind of modern apartment my interior designer tried throwing on me because I was a single dude making a lot of money, therefore my apartment should reflect minimalist tastes with ugly paintings—a ridiculous proposal that had me firing her right after I fucked her.

And looking around Astor’s crib, I can honestly say that my bachelor-driven, women-screwing, pet-free home is way more colorful and inviting than hers.

Probably because you had your mom to help you out, and she didn’t.

The unwelcome answer has me scowling further.

“I didn’t ask you here, so stop staring at my laptop like you want to kill it,” Astor says.

I blink out of my fugue, realizing I’m staring at her open computer on the kitchen counter, it’s eerie blue glow calling out to me even when I didn’t know it.

I bend closer to the screen. “Whatchu got up on it?”

She snaps it shut. “Privileged information.”

“That’s your favorite word, isn’t it?”

“Right up there with asshole and bastard, yes.”

Astor unpacks the pasta I brought her, scraping it onto a plate. The resulting, garlicky, buttery scent must make her soften, because she says without looking up, “Thank you for bringing this.”

“You’re welcome.”

She continues to putter around the kitchen, grabbing a mug, turning on the coffee machine, and while I enjoy every time she bends down to the lower drawers and I see a hint of my favorite cheeks, I get down to business as soon as she sits on the stool beside me and begins shoveling down food like a bear set loose in a trailer park.

“Why’d you leave, if you were so hungry?” I ask.

She pauses, swallows, and dabs at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I had a lot of work to get to.”

“The SI Slaughters.”

“Yep.” She takes another forkful. When she finishes chewing, she says, “What’s fast turning out to be your favorite mystery to solve.”

“I’m worried about you.”

I say it before I pussy out. I’ve caught Astor in a vulnerable moment. She’s bleary-eyed, clearly tired and emotionally drained in a way I’m not used to noticing. Not even when her mom died, and I found it strange, then. How she bottles everything up, doesn’t bother anybody. It’s a matter of time before she breaks. And in an indescribable way, I want to be there if and when it happens, despite knowing I’ve contributed to it.

Astor leans back as much as she can on a stool. “Mike and I broke up.”

Now that, I didn’t expect. “Uh, what?”

She nods and slides off the stool to get my coffee. “How do you take it?”

“Um—that sucks. Oh, coffee. Just milk. Thanks.”

She pours in the milk, the soft glug the only sound between us before she places the mug in front of me and resumes her seat. And eating.

“So…you want to expand on that?” I ask.

Astor shrugs her exposed shoulder. “He cheated. I caught him. End of story.”

“That fucker cheated on you?”

My roar is unexpected. Astor jolts, but recovers quickly. “Don’t be so surprised. I wasn’t. I tend to attract the jerks.”

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