good at dates.”
“Yeah, me either.”
He finished his beer just as people starting shouting about cops at the door. Before Ian could get there, some little dude answered it.
“We need to speak to the owner or person renting the property,” one of the cops said, hand on his belt in a way that was supposed to be intimidating. And it was.
“I’m the owner,” Ian said.
“You look awfully young.”
“I can’t help that.”
Beside him, Molly snickered into her hand.
“We’ve received three calls about noise,” the officer said. “Do you realize it’s after two o’clock? What do you say you wrap this up?”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
The cops looked past him to the group of people watching. “Anybody here underage?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ian said.
The cop gave the faces another perusal. “Call it a night. If I get another noise complaint I’ll write you up.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The officers walked back to their patrol car parked in the middle of the street, and Ian stood with his hand on the doorknob. People were already collecting their things, putting on shoes, grabbing packs of cigarettes, finishing off beers as they moved toward the door.
“Great party,” was repeated again and again as Ian and Molly stood there like a couple, telling the partygoers goodbye.
The band was the last to leave, carrying out amps and guitars and breaking down the drum kit. “You two are so cute together,” the singer said as she walked out the door. And then it was just Ian and Molly left with a house that smelled like beer and cigarettes.
Ian looked at the mess. He was too tired to deal with it now. “I’m going to bed.”
He closed and locked the front door, then headed upstairs to his room, shoving the makeshift ashtrays and empty cups aside, tugging down the covers, stripping to his boxer shorts, dropping into bed, and turning off the light.
He heard Molly moving around, closing windows, maybe picking up, then he was out.
A scream woke him. Heart pounding, he bolted upright in bed trying to orient himself, trying to figure out where the sound had come from.
“Oh my God!” Molly said from the direction of her room.
He ran— to the rescue —and found her staring in horror at her bed.
“What?”
She pointed. “Somebody threw up. And they threw up all over the floor too.” She pointed again.
Jesus. He turned around, heart still slamming in his chest. “You can sleep in my room if you want.” He didn’t wait for her reply. He really didn’t care. He trudged back to where he’d started, tumbled into bed, and was asleep in minutes.
Chapter 19
I woke up to the smell of coffee. Ian was sitting in the chair across from me, a steaming mug in his hand, watching me as he drank.
“You could have slept in my bed,” he said over the rim of his cup. “I would have slept on the couch.”
Why wasn’t I in my own room? Oh, yeah. The vomit.
“We need to talk.”
I pulled the blanket up to my chin and squinted my eyes against the glaring sunlight. “That seems to be a favorite line of yours.”
“I’m going to sign the house over to you.”
“I don’t want it.”
“It’s your childhood home.”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want it.”
“Take it and sell it. Do whatever you want with it. I’m going back to California.”
The last sentence caused my heart to fall. It really felt like it fell. “I don’t want the money. I don’t want anything from this house.”
He frowned and slumped back in his chair.
He feet were bare, and he was wearing faded jeans and a shirt with tails, this one a pale blue. “If you don’t want it, and if you don’t want the money, I’m going to sell it.”
“Fine. I’m moving out anyway. I found a house in Uptown near the café.” I tossed an arm over my eyes so I didn’t have to look at him.
“That works for me.”
I’ll bet it was the girl he went to see in Chicago. Something happened in Chicago.
I heard him
“Yeah, me either.”
He finished his beer just as people starting shouting about cops at the door. Before Ian could get there, some little dude answered it.
“We need to speak to the owner or person renting the property,” one of the cops said, hand on his belt in a way that was supposed to be intimidating. And it was.
“I’m the owner,” Ian said.
“You look awfully young.”
“I can’t help that.”
Beside him, Molly snickered into her hand.
“We’ve received three calls about noise,” the officer said. “Do you realize it’s after two o’clock? What do you say you wrap this up?”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
The cops looked past him to the group of people watching. “Anybody here underage?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ian said.
The cop gave the faces another perusal. “Call it a night. If I get another noise complaint I’ll write you up.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The officers walked back to their patrol car parked in the middle of the street, and Ian stood with his hand on the doorknob. People were already collecting their things, putting on shoes, grabbing packs of cigarettes, finishing off beers as they moved toward the door.
“Great party,” was repeated again and again as Ian and Molly stood there like a couple, telling the partygoers goodbye.
The band was the last to leave, carrying out amps and guitars and breaking down the drum kit. “You two are so cute together,” the singer said as she walked out the door. And then it was just Ian and Molly left with a house that smelled like beer and cigarettes.
Ian looked at the mess. He was too tired to deal with it now. “I’m going to bed.”
He closed and locked the front door, then headed upstairs to his room, shoving the makeshift ashtrays and empty cups aside, tugging down the covers, stripping to his boxer shorts, dropping into bed, and turning off the light.
He heard Molly moving around, closing windows, maybe picking up, then he was out.
A scream woke him. Heart pounding, he bolted upright in bed trying to orient himself, trying to figure out where the sound had come from.
“Oh my God!” Molly said from the direction of her room.
He ran— to the rescue —and found her staring in horror at her bed.
“What?”
She pointed. “Somebody threw up. And they threw up all over the floor too.” She pointed again.
Jesus. He turned around, heart still slamming in his chest. “You can sleep in my room if you want.” He didn’t wait for her reply. He really didn’t care. He trudged back to where he’d started, tumbled into bed, and was asleep in minutes.
Chapter 19
I woke up to the smell of coffee. Ian was sitting in the chair across from me, a steaming mug in his hand, watching me as he drank.
“You could have slept in my bed,” he said over the rim of his cup. “I would have slept on the couch.”
Why wasn’t I in my own room? Oh, yeah. The vomit.
“We need to talk.”
I pulled the blanket up to my chin and squinted my eyes against the glaring sunlight. “That seems to be a favorite line of yours.”
“I’m going to sign the house over to you.”
“I don’t want it.”
“It’s your childhood home.”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want it.”
“Take it and sell it. Do whatever you want with it. I’m going back to California.”
The last sentence caused my heart to fall. It really felt like it fell. “I don’t want the money. I don’t want anything from this house.”
He frowned and slumped back in his chair.
He feet were bare, and he was wearing faded jeans and a shirt with tails, this one a pale blue. “If you don’t want it, and if you don’t want the money, I’m going to sell it.”
“Fine. I’m moving out anyway. I found a house in Uptown near the café.” I tossed an arm over my eyes so I didn’t have to look at him.
“That works for me.”
I’ll bet it was the girl he went to see in Chicago. Something happened in Chicago.
I heard him
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