let them in with my little conjuration the other night.
Sitting up in bed perfectly still, I strained to hear anything out of place, but all was quiet. I lay back down and my eyes flickered shut. Suddenly there was a loud crash somewhere in the house, followed by loud, frantic yelling. Jesus Christ, the killer’s come after me and he’s hurting Charlie —that was my first thought.
I leapt out of bed, flung the door open, and raced down the hall to the living room. The cool air blowing from the vents prickled my skin because I was wearing nothing but a black jockstrap and socks—not my usual sleeping attire but I wore them on the off chance that Charlie might throw caution to the wind and climb into bed with me. I knew better, but there was nothing wrong with being prepared for the best-case scenario.
I skidded on the hardwood floor in my socked feet as I came to a stop in the archway that led to the living room. Charlie was standing behind the couch in just his slacks that he hadn’t even had time to fasten, so they were drooping to reveal his boxer briefs. His legs were planted firmly with the left one in front, he was twisted at the waist with his left shoulder leading; his left arm was bent, his right arm was straight, and both hands were gripping a semi-automatic pistol. I wasn’t a recreational shooter, but I knew my way around a gun; he was using a classic Weaver stance, and he’d sighted down the barrel at a figure standing in front of the door.
His big shoulders heaved with his quickened breath, and the shape he had in his sights quivered. I squinted at the shadow, then gasped and flicked on the overhead lights. It was just fucking Riot, coming home in the middle of the goddamn night…or morning.
“Charlie,” I said softly, not wanting to startle him, although I’m sure he was plenty well trained enough not to shoot without real provocation. “It’s okay, you can let him go. It’s just Riot, see?”
As realization dawned, Charlie paled and immediately lowered the gun. He then decocked it and checked the chamber before sliding it back into his shoulder holster that was lying on the side table.
“What the fuck , man?” Riot screeched.
“I’m so sorry,” Charlie said to Riot, then he glanced over at me. His mouth fell open when he saw how I was— not —dressed, and I could feel the heat from his gaze across the room. Shit, forgot to cover up, but I wasn’t going to pretend I was sorry.
“Sorry,” he said again, addressing Riot but staring at me. “I thought you were an intruder.”
“An intruder—”
“You said you weren’t coming home before your shift,” I interrupted. “Charlie stayed the night to make sure I was safe.”
Riot deflated a little but cast a wary look at Charlie as he slipped by him to take off his shoes. “Oh, you’re that cop that comes into Uptown sometimes. Wait…safe? Why wouldn’t you be safe here?”
“God, maybe if you answered your phone once-in-a-fucking-while, you’d know,” I grumbled.
“Sorry, dude, you know how I get when I’m working. Okay, fucking,” he said with a grin and pulled out his phone.
Charlie made a choking sound behind us, and we both turned to look at him. “Well, if Riot is here now, I should probably head out,” he said. He walked over to the sofa bed to put on his shirt and shoes.
“You don’t have to go,” I said, knowing that it was too soon for Charlie to be with me and be around other people at the same time. I hoped he’d prove me wrong, but I was sure he wouldn’t. “You could hang with us for a bit.”
“Holy shit, Titus. Twelve missed calls? Here, I’ll listen to the voicemails so you don’t have to say all that shit again.” He tapped a couple of buttons on his phone and then held it up to his ear. I watched as his eyes got increasingly wider and his mouth dropped open.
Charlie ran a hand through his messy hair and edged toward the door. “Nah, it looks like you’re gonna have some
Sitting up in bed perfectly still, I strained to hear anything out of place, but all was quiet. I lay back down and my eyes flickered shut. Suddenly there was a loud crash somewhere in the house, followed by loud, frantic yelling. Jesus Christ, the killer’s come after me and he’s hurting Charlie —that was my first thought.
I leapt out of bed, flung the door open, and raced down the hall to the living room. The cool air blowing from the vents prickled my skin because I was wearing nothing but a black jockstrap and socks—not my usual sleeping attire but I wore them on the off chance that Charlie might throw caution to the wind and climb into bed with me. I knew better, but there was nothing wrong with being prepared for the best-case scenario.
I skidded on the hardwood floor in my socked feet as I came to a stop in the archway that led to the living room. Charlie was standing behind the couch in just his slacks that he hadn’t even had time to fasten, so they were drooping to reveal his boxer briefs. His legs were planted firmly with the left one in front, he was twisted at the waist with his left shoulder leading; his left arm was bent, his right arm was straight, and both hands were gripping a semi-automatic pistol. I wasn’t a recreational shooter, but I knew my way around a gun; he was using a classic Weaver stance, and he’d sighted down the barrel at a figure standing in front of the door.
His big shoulders heaved with his quickened breath, and the shape he had in his sights quivered. I squinted at the shadow, then gasped and flicked on the overhead lights. It was just fucking Riot, coming home in the middle of the goddamn night…or morning.
“Charlie,” I said softly, not wanting to startle him, although I’m sure he was plenty well trained enough not to shoot without real provocation. “It’s okay, you can let him go. It’s just Riot, see?”
As realization dawned, Charlie paled and immediately lowered the gun. He then decocked it and checked the chamber before sliding it back into his shoulder holster that was lying on the side table.
“What the fuck , man?” Riot screeched.
“I’m so sorry,” Charlie said to Riot, then he glanced over at me. His mouth fell open when he saw how I was— not —dressed, and I could feel the heat from his gaze across the room. Shit, forgot to cover up, but I wasn’t going to pretend I was sorry.
“Sorry,” he said again, addressing Riot but staring at me. “I thought you were an intruder.”
“An intruder—”
“You said you weren’t coming home before your shift,” I interrupted. “Charlie stayed the night to make sure I was safe.”
Riot deflated a little but cast a wary look at Charlie as he slipped by him to take off his shoes. “Oh, you’re that cop that comes into Uptown sometimes. Wait…safe? Why wouldn’t you be safe here?”
“God, maybe if you answered your phone once-in-a-fucking-while, you’d know,” I grumbled.
“Sorry, dude, you know how I get when I’m working. Okay, fucking,” he said with a grin and pulled out his phone.
Charlie made a choking sound behind us, and we both turned to look at him. “Well, if Riot is here now, I should probably head out,” he said. He walked over to the sofa bed to put on his shirt and shoes.
“You don’t have to go,” I said, knowing that it was too soon for Charlie to be with me and be around other people at the same time. I hoped he’d prove me wrong, but I was sure he wouldn’t. “You could hang with us for a bit.”
“Holy shit, Titus. Twelve missed calls? Here, I’ll listen to the voicemails so you don’t have to say all that shit again.” He tapped a couple of buttons on his phone and then held it up to his ear. I watched as his eyes got increasingly wider and his mouth dropped open.
Charlie ran a hand through his messy hair and edged toward the door. “Nah, it looks like you’re gonna have some
Similar Books
