Page 50 of Windlass

“Sorry to leave you hanging.”

“Oh my god, Stevie.” Angie laughed, though, as she swatted Stevie’s leg.

“That is, in fact, what you said.”

Angie was maybe blushing; Stevie couldn’t tell in the dark.

“I can’t believe you walked out on me. Again.”

Stevie nudged her with the leg she’d swatted. “Can’t you? You looked a little strung out.”

“I swear—”

“I can be serious, if you want.”

Angie rested her chin on her knees and looked at her. “I don’t know if I’d recognize you, serious.”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s an observation.” Angie rested a hand on Stevie’s bare ankle and brushed her thumb over the bone. The gesture was intimate, and while Stevie didn’t think Angie meant it to be erotic, she felt the touch all the way up her leg.

“Should we . . .” Angie trailed off.

“Do youwantto talk?”

“Ineverwant to talk.” Angie’s fingers continued their gentle exploration of her ankle, almost innocent. “But . . .”

“But you’re here to explain why that can’t happen again.”

Angie winced but did not withdraw her hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“Could be.” Stevie hoped—prayed, for all that she had as much belief in a higher power as Circe did—that she sounded composed.

“How?”

“It’s called redirection therapy.”

Angie’s laugh rewarded her. She didn’t dare relax yet, though.

“Please, by all means, elaborate.” Angie’s nails trailed lightly across Stevie’s skin.

“Your attempts to distract me won’t work.”

“Your attempts to distract me won’t work,” Angie mimicked in an approximation of a Hollywood villain.

Stevie smiled. The expression loosened something inside her. “Replace unhealthy coping mechanisms with slightly healthier ones.”

“I thought you meant, like, bowling.”

“If you want to feel my balls—”

“I swear to god, Stevie—”

“You’ll what?”

“Keep my shirt on the rest of my life, and you’ll never see my tits again.”

Stevie winced. “That’s a crime against humanity, not just me.”

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