Page 56 of The Love Bandits

“I told you I won’t touch you unless you ask for it.”

A huff of air escapes her. “Then you’llnevertouch me again.”

“If you say so,” I tell her easily, even if I’m hoping she’s lying. “Now, who’s boning who?”

She smiles for a split second, then shoves my shoulder with hers over the pillow.

“Hey, easy with the touching, hellcat.”

She shakes her head and tells me a bit about the show, and we fall into companionable silence as we watch—Lainey breaking her rule about smartass comments as much as I do.

I don’t know who falls asleep first, but I wake up at some point in the night with the TV still humming and her sweet-smelling head tipped against mine. The pillow that was wedged between us has fallen to the floor, and her head is resting on my shoulder, her nose buried in my neck. The scent of spicy jasmine hangs in the air. For a second, I can only look down at her in disbelief, because this tornado of a woman looks so small and soft in sleep.

I carefully reach for the remote on the coffee table, not wanting to displace her, then turn off the TV and pull a blanket that was slung over the back of the old couch over her. She makes a little sound in the back of her throat and snuggles in deeper. A strange feeling crawls over me, and instead of going upstairs to my much-more comfortable bed, I stay put on myinsufficient piece of the couch. When I wake up, I’m alone, the blanket is folded and stowed, and the sun is low in the sky.

There’s a feeling of…disappointment, maybe. But I go upstairs and find my phone, figuring I’ll text Anthony. Maybe we can get the tea arranged for this afternoon, and I’ll be able to grab the necklace from his lady and blow town tomorrow. It should be a more pleasant fantasy—but another fantasy has supplanted it.

I want to make Elaine come.

Shaking my head at my folly, I send off a text asking when they’re all free for “tea,” then lie down for a few minutes to see if he answers quickly. When my phone stubbornly refuses to buzz, I pocket it and head out into the upstairs hallway. It’s quiet, so I use the bathroom and then head down to the kitchen. I find Nicole in there, alone, putting jam on toast with a massive kitchen knife that’s probably meant for chopping vegetables or cleaving meat off the bone. She’s wearing boxer shorts and a long-sleeved shirt that saysIt’s not resting bitch face. I DO dislike you.

I mime stepping backward, and she snorts. “Cute.” She waves the knife at me. “How’d those laxatives work for you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Lainey claims she left the house last night to buy you laxatives,” she says slowly. “I’m being polite and asking how they worked out.”

Surprised laughter almost escapes me. Damn, Elaine didn’t like lying to her friend for me, so she made me pay for it—and then didn’t mention a single word about it after delivering the trash bags.

“They worked out great,” I tell her with a grin, “never shit better in my life. Speaking of Elaine—”

“She’s not here,” Nicole says pointedly.

“And you’re not inclined to tell me where she is.”

“So you’re smarter than you look,” she says with a smirk. “Good for you.”

I lift my eyebrows, think about swiping her toast, and think again. I like my fingers too much. “What’s on the docket for today if Anthony can’t meet up?”

“Feel free to waste your time however you’d like. You could take up knitting. There areseveralinstructional videos on YouTube. You could make a tube sock. A scarf. The possibilities are endless.”

“I’d rather die.” I pause, thinking about Lainey, off on some unspecified task. Is she doing something for the Love Fixers?

That thought skydives into another one. She kissed me when she was on a job for the Love Fixers. What if whatever revenge plot she’s working on requires her to do that again? Even now, she could be making out with some douchebag.

I clear my throat. “Maybe I could help Elaine?”

She sets the sharp knife into the sink. “Yes, I’ve been wondering about that. What, exactly, would you like to help her with?”

Her tone suggests she’s noticed there’s something between us. I’m tempted to ask her if this place is covered in cameras, but if I did, I’d be giving something away.

Considering my options, I go for a partial truth. “She could have turned me in, and she didn’t. You were right last night—she risked herself for me.”

I haven’t let myself dwell on that much—or make it into something it’s not. She made it very clear what she thinks of me on a personal level, but she’s a woman who won’t let her opinion get in the way of her drive to help someone in need.

“Sheshouldhave turned you in,” Nicole insists. “But you’re a handsome devil, so I’m sure you know how to use your wiles.” She waves her jam-covered toast at me. My stomach growls. “Help yourself,” she says, waving at a loaf of bread on thecounter. “You may be a hamster in a wheel, but you can’t expect to get fed like one.”

“Thanks,” I say, grabbing some bread from the bag and popping it into the toaster.

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