I pause by the door and sigh. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have Lily-Anne's endless positivity. I've never been able to decide if it would make life a thousand times more cheerful or just utterly heartbreaking.
I try to deflect her comment.
'After the service, I've had enough risk,' I tell her.
'That's physical. And you know that's not what I'm—'
On the third buzz from my phone, I hold it up for her to see.
"Three unread messages from "C"."
'I really have to go.'
'He's naggy.' Lily-Anne goes back to her spying so she can glare down at the street.
'He's efficient,' I counter, unsure why I'm defending him.
'Ooh, he's taking his helmet off! Does he know what number you ar—oh, he must do. He's looking up at—oh, God...'
It's not a flattering "Oh God"...
'What?' Despite my being late, I hurry back across the room, my thoughts flying to all kinds of injuries a man in Cyrus's field might suffer to the face.
'Nothing, I mean... well he's hot but...' Lily-Anne flops back against my pillow and clutches the mug closer to her chest. 'I think I just got the chills. Does he always look so... murder-y?'
I laugh but there's a brittle edge to the sound.
'It's never bothered me. Look, I really need to go,' I insist, getting back up from the bed and rushing for the door.
'Okay, well... be careful.'
'You were the one just telling me to take risks!'
'You know what I mean!' Lily-Anne haughtily throws her hair over one shoulder.
'Yeah, yeah...' I wave a reassuring hand and yank open the door. 'Lock up when you leave and good luck with your exam!' I wink at her as I head out into the hallway. 'I'll send you a postcard from paradise!'
Her sarcastic response escapes around the closing door.
'Gee, thanks!'
Laughing, I resettle my bag on my shoulder and rush for the stairs. A quick sprint down four flights and a hard yank of the front entrance (the superintendent really needs to sand down that doorframe), and I'm out onto the street.
I jog down the half-dozen stone steps to street level and am greeted with a glare.
'You have someone up there?' Cyrus asks with a stony expression.
For a minute, I think he's just wincing against the summer sun. But then the chills hit me. Hostility is rolling off him in waves.
I'm momentarily tongue-tied.
When I don't reply, Cyrus nods his brow up towards my apartment window. He must have seen the blinds twitching.
'A friend.'
'The guy from the bar?' he asks, his tone beyond icy.
'What?'