Page 26 of Hard Luck (Blackstone House)

“Anywhere in the kitchen is fine.”

He interpreted that as “put everything away” and opened the refrigerator.

“No wonder you wanted to stop at the grocery store. All you have in here is a six-pack of beer, a jar of pickles, and an egg.” He turned to look at me, incredulous. “How do you survive?”

“All-you-can-eat specials.”

Through the open bedroom door, I spotted a laptop onthe chest of drawers, plus a bottle of perfume and a teddy bear. I made a mental note to check the bear for recording devices—we had a nanny cam in the equipment room that looked remarkably similar.

“Do you work from home?” he asked.

“Yes, but don’t get any ideas about dropping in for breakfast.”

“Too stalkerish?”

“Too stalkerish.”

“Damn. There goes my plan to rent the apartment next door.”

Cole was joking, but his words were still a punch to the gut because once upon a time, Bastian had done exactly that. I’d never know if it was intentional, whether he’d rented that particular unit with the intention of unearthing my deepest secrets, or if he’d had the idea later. Dead men didn’t tell tales.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Relax, you’re safe. Tinkerbell would object. She likes to prowl around her catio in the evening.”

“One of my neighbours had an outdoor cat, but it got run over. When I moved in, there were posters everywhere asking people to keep an eye out, and I guess they worked because some guy showed up with Sooty in a cardboard box. There were tears. So many tears. I didn’t have any tissues, but a guy from the seventh floor donated a toilet roll to the cause.”

I lied a lot, and I did it smoothly, convincingly, and without guilt. At times, my life depended on it. When I was little, Mom had told me that “practice makes perfect,” and I’d taken the advice to heart.

So why didn’t the bullshit spilling from my lips sit quite right today? I’d been out of sorts since I broke my damn leg, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. Tulsa had suggested that it might be the fracture, that the reminder ofmy own mortality had knocked me off kilter, but that wasn’t it. I’d been injured plenty of times before, and even a bullet wound hadn’t left me feeling this way.

“That’s a damn shame,” Cole said. “Tinkerbell can be a grouch, but I still want her to live a long, happy life. Although I’m not sure she’s going to forgive me when I take her home.”

“Home to San Gallicano?”

He nodded. “She’s already had the shots, and she wasn’t impressed about that. My neighbour offered to watch her when I go out on the boat.”

“Your neighbour sounds like a gem.”

“Yeah, she is. She keeps an eye on my place when I’m away and invites me over for dinner once or twice a week when I’m home.”

“I bet she does.”

Wait, was that a hint of displeasure in my voice? Where did that come from? So what if Cole had a female neighbour who cooked for him—I didn’t care.

But he picked up on my tone. “Yolanda’s also old enough to be my grandma.”

“Good.” Shit. “I mean, it’s good that she’ll look after the cat.”

Cole looked at me.

I looked at Cole.

Then he kissed me. Or maybe I kissed him, but whatever, the outcome was still the same. My crutches clattered to the floor as he hoisted me off my feet, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Fuck, my thigh hurt like a bitch, and that was after the good drugs.

“This is a bad idea,” I mumbled against his lips.

“The worst,” he agreed. “Bed or counter? Your choice.”

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