Not the time, Callahan.
The elevator dings, and we step out. The hallway stretches before us, quiet and deserted.
I unlock my door, push it open, and nod her inside.
And now, Izzy Russo is in my apartment.
And that?
That's a problem.
She looks around like she's trying to take in everything at once. It's simple. Minimal furniture. A basic couch, a single bookshelf, a kitchen table I never use.
I don't care about appearances. My place is functional. That's all that matters. Still, I notice the way she lingers in the center of the room, taking it all in.
"This is really cozy," she says.
I huff a laugh, grabbing a fresh t-shirt from my closet. The fabric slides over my skin, finally providing a barrier between me and the cold that I've been pretending not to feel.
Then she turns and sees the bed against the far wall. Her brow furrows. "Do you...really fit on that?"
I glance at my bed—a twin that barely accommodates my frame.
I chuckle. "Not really. But I haven't been able to sleep on anything that doesn't feel like an army cot since I got out."
She nods, but stays quiet. Like she doesn't know what to say to that. Like she's thinking too hard about it. And I don't like the way that makes my chest tighten.
"Come on," I say, grabbing my keys. The metal is cool in my palm. "We can walk to the store. Pick up your car on the way back."
She shrugs. "Why don't we just go over the brief here?"
I pause.
Because immediately, yes.
Having Izzy in my apartment?
Yes.
Her scent lingering on my furniture, her voice filling up my space?
Yes.
But also no.
Because having her alone with me in here for any length of time will make me want to do things I shouldn't.
She's waiting on my answer, watching me. Her eyes are expectant, slightly curious.
I force a casual shrug.
"Yeah," I say, voice even. "That's fine. We can go over it here."
She nods, then walks over to my bed?—
And sits down.
Fuck.