Page 14 of End Game

I speak before I can think. Something I’m afraid is becoming a habit. “You can’t park on the street with a busted window. I’ll share my spot with you until you get it fixed.”

Dollar frowns. I can feel the surprise radiate off Coop at my offer, but I ignore them both.

I can’t be a callous asshole toward women all the time.

This girl needs our help.

Chapter Six

EVERLEIGH

After I told my new roommates the depressing news, Frank—I prefer calling him by his first name because calling him Dollar feels silly to me—was kind enough to go with me to Walmart so I can pick up a few things to see me through the next couple of nights. The cheapest sheets I could find, a toothbrush, some towels. Toiletries and a couple of tank tops. A pair of black sweats. Basic items that’ll get me through until I figure out exactly how much I can afford—not much, I already know that—to spend on what I need to actually live.

Which is like ... everything. When I said I wanted a fresh start, I didn’t mean something this extreme.

Now I’m in my new bedroom, putting the freshly washed yet slightly scratchy sheets on the double mattress that was left behind. They didn’t even mention that they have a washer and dryer in the house, which is a total bonus.

It’s only when I’m holding up the empty pillowcase that I realize I forgot to buy a pillow. Maybe I could bunch up my hoodie and use it as a pillow or ...

“I have one to spare if you need it.”

I whirl around to find Nico filling my doorway with his impossibly broad shoulders. How tall is he, anyway? I clutch the empty pillowcaseto my chest like a shield, ready to ask him what he means, when he continues talking.

“I was talking about a pillow. I saw you looking around with the empty pillowcase you’re holding.” He waves a big hand in my direction.

“Oh, right.” I glance down at the slightly wrinkled pillowcase. The sheets are a pale pink. I even bought a matching pale-pink comforter that’s pretty thin, but it’ll do the job. “It’s hard to remember everything, I guess.”

“I’m sure it is.” He leans his shoulder against the doorjamb like he’s making himself comfortable and staying for a while. “You can use my pillow until you get one. Though I always prefer to sleep with a couple—”

“Oh, I don’t need to borrow yours, then. I don’t want to take it from you,” I say in a panic, wincing because I interrupted him, which is rude.

“I have a bunch,” he says. “I can spare one. I don’t mind.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I set the pillowcase on the mattress, feeling awkward. His presence seems to fill up my small bedroom, and he’s not even actually standing in the room with me. But he’s here. Filling up the space and reminding me that this was his territory first. I’m just lucky enough he’s letting me stay here.

“You can use my stuff when you take a shower too. Bodywash. Shampoo. A towel,” he offers.

“That’s so nice of you.” My smile is faint. I do appreciate how accommodating he’s being. “I bought some towels, though.”

“Well, set them up in the bathroom. I emptied a rack for you.”

“I appreciate it.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and we just stare at each other, the air seeming to crackle between us. I spent a lot of one-on-one time with Frank earlier today, and it wasn’t like that for us.

Not even close.

So weird.

“You settling in okay?” he finally asks.

“As best as I can considering most of my worldly possessions were stolen.” My tone is wry. At least I can joke about it.

Sort of.

“I hate to say this to you, but they’ll probably never catch who did it.” He crosses his arms, his biceps bulging with the movement. “Petty crime can be pretty bad around here.”

“I’ve heard that about Santa Mira,” I say with a sigh. “And what sucks is there wasn’t much in those boxes that was actually valuable, you know? Like, what are they going to do with my clothes and makeup? The knickknacks I brought with me?”

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