by Jules Court
“What?” It wasn’t the line of questioning she’d been anticipating.
“I’m about to start having visions. It’s got to be a hundred degrees in here.”
“My window unit stopped working last month and I didn’t have a chance to replace it right away. I looked everywhere for one on my last day off”—she couldn’t remember at the moment when that was—”but it was after this heat wave started, so all the stores were out.”
“Pack a bag,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I have an air conditioner.”
“I have a fan.”
“Fans are useless. They’re the Counselor Troi of appliances.” At her blank look, he expanded. “The empath from Star Trek: The Next Generation. The one who announces she can sense hostility from the alien species after they’ve locked their photon torpedoes on the Enterprise.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a nerd,” she said.
“Can’t a guy enjoy a good television program without labels?”
“I bet you still cry about Firefly’s cancellation.”
“That’s a touchy subject,” he said. He looked around. “If you don’t want anything from your floordrobe, I can give you a T-shirt to sleep in, but you’ll have to wear that dress tomorrow.”
“Try working my schedule and see how on top of laundry you are. Also, what makes you think I’m going home with you?” A rivulet of sweat inched down her spine.
“I won’t try anything. Scout’s honor,” he said, and crossed his fingers.
She should feel relieved, not disappointed. She pushed a few sticky tendrils of hair away from her face. He was right. There was no way she’d get any sleep here and she couldn’t afford a hotel, not with her student loans.
It only took a few minutes to pack a bag. By the time she shut the door to her apartment behind them, she was dizzy from the heat. She spent the ride over to his apartment with her eyes closed, AC vent tilted toward her face.
Chapter Five
Brian only lived over in the Back Bay. His apartment turned out to be on the top floor of a brownstone. She’d followed him through the door, expecting a place like hers, but with more sports paraphernalia. But he had real furniture, not just a cast-off couch and an IKEA bookshelf. The walls were hung with what looked like actual art rather than beer posters and a Patriots flag.
“You have a girlfriend, don’t you?” She drifted closer to inspect a grouping of framed photographs.
“Nope,” he said. “You’ve only discovered a shocking secret. Men are capable of running a vacuum cleaner if women aren’t around. Although I may have betrayed the brotherhood by admitting that.”
One of the photos showed Brian holding a little girl with Annie-level red curls. “Yours?”
“That’s my niece, Heather.” He moved closer. “No kids, no girlfriend, no ex-wives. Anything else you want to know? Just turned thirty, have all my own teeth and more than one pair of shoes. I enjoy long walks on the beach, superhero movies, watching the sunrise and spending the whole weekend in bed.” He picked up the end of her ponytail and teased it between his fingers.
“And the sound of your own voice,” she said. She snatched her ponytail back.
He laughed. “True,” he said. He turned to the photos. “My sister, Heather’s mom, took these. She’s a professional photographer. She mostly does weddings, though. Says it’s what pays the bills.”
She took a step away from him to give herself some breathing room. “What about that?” She pointed toward the landscape painting hanging over the couch.
“My brother painted that.”
“He’s an artist?”
“When he’s not putting out fires. He’s on the Boston Fire Department.”
“So your sister takes pictures, your brother paints. What about you?”
“Absolutely zero artistic ability,” he said cheerfully. “I’m the middle child. We’re always the black sheep.”
“You’re close to your family.” It wasn’t a question. She could tell from the warmth of his expression when he talked about them.
“Sure,” he said. “Aren’t you?”
She looked away from his green eyes that saw too much.
“And you’re about to fall asleep on your feet,” he said. “You can take my bed. I’ll sleep out here on the couch.”
“No, I’ll take the couch.”
“You need rest.”
“I’m used to it, sleeplessness is a rite of passage for residents.”
“And after your residency?”
“Residency is designed to make a doctor’s hours seem luxurious. Do you think I could use your shower first? It’s been a very long, very hot day.”
“Of course.”
His bedroom was more austere than the living room, containing only a neatly made bed, a bureau and a nightstand. Her attention was immediately caught by the air conditioner in the window. Yes.
Brian moved past her to turn it on. It started up with a loud hum that was the most glorious noise she’d ever heard. It must be how travelers felt when they stumbled across an oasis after trekking through the scorching sands of a desert. She might start making out with it.
Brian gestured toward the master bath. “Towels are in the closet,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“Need anything else?” he asked.
“This is fine.”
“Just yell if you do.”
“Okay,” she said.
They stared at each other for an awkward moment before he left the room, closing the door behind her.
Priya stuck her overheated face directly in front of the AC unit, taking a blast of arctic air. She didn’t want to admit to herself that this time her flush wasn’t from the ambient temperature.
* * *
Out in the warm living room, Brian pulled his T-shirt off. It wasn’t the fiery pit of Hell that was Priya’s place out here, but it wasn’t the air-conditioned paradise of the bedroom, either.
He folded his shirt, placing it on a chair, and shed his jeans. The shower turned on. He put his folded jeans on top of his T-shirt before pulling a spare set of sheets from the hall closet. Priya was probably stepping under the water now. Naked. Just on the other side of the wall. The water was sluicing over her breasts, down her belly—
He needed to think of something else. Now. Sleeping with someone involved in a murder investigation was the sort of thing that caused defense attorneys to rub their hands with glee while visions of mistrials danced in their heads. Not to mention destroying his career.
It’d been a rash decision to bring her home—he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her in that dangerously overheated studio apartment—but now he could use his momentary lapse in judgment to his advantage. Her purse sat by the door where she’d set it while she studied his photographs. He picked it up and unzipped it. He wasn’t sure what women were supposed to carry in their purses, but Priya seemed to have stuffed so much in hers that it must be like Doctor Who’s TARDIS—bigger on the inside. He found her cell phone underneath a pack of tissues, a bottle of hand sanitizer and a tube of lip-gloss. He pulled it out, quickly scrolling through her texts before any shame for violating her privacy could catch up with him.
She’d sent several texts to her cousin, most of them in capital letters with lots of exclamation points, begging Sara to call her. None of them had been returned. He checked the call log. Nothing incoming from Sara and the outgoing call to her was just long enough for it to be Priya leaving a voicemail.
The sound of the water cut off. He jammed the phone back in her purse and zipped it up.
He made up the couch with the spare sheets and lay down for some badly needed sleep. The couch was just a hair too short and th
e soles of his feet jammed up against the arm. He rolled to his side. He spun again, punching his pillow into a more comfortable configuration, before lying back down.
He should count sheep. Had he ever seen a sheep outside of a petting zoo? Scotland had a lot of sheep, didn’t it? They’d talked about visiting Scotland, his brother and sister and him. Maybe look up extended family there. But he always put it off. Work was more important. Priya would probably understand that he worked a lot. You couldn’t become a doctor without making some sacrifices.
He rolled over. Did Priya sleep on her stomach or her back? Maybe she curled up on her side. She looked the perfect size to be his little spoon.
He rolled again, flinging an arm out. It smacked the edge of the coffee table, right on his funny bone. “Fuck!”
Rustling came from the bedroom. Damn. He’d woken her up with his sleepless flailing.
The bedroom door cracked open. “Are you okay?” she called.
“Fine,” he said. “Sorry I woke you.”
“I was having a little trouble sleeping. Sometimes when I’ve been up for too long, I have trouble dropping off. And new bed...” She trailed off. “Well, good night, then.”
“Good night,” he said.
The bedroom door shut and he forced his eyes to do the same. A moment later, the door opened again. He looked up.
“So, umm, if you’re having trouble sleeping on the couch, we could share the bed,” she said. “Platonically,” she added quickly. “It’s a big bed. Stay on your side and we’ll be fine.”
He should say no. He needed to keep as much space as possible between them while simultaneously dogging her every move. Sleeping together was as good an idea as asking a crackhead to keep an eye on your wallet.
“Okay,” he said instead, because he was smart like that. “But don’t be getting grabby hands with me in the middle of the night.”
“You wish,” she said, adding a little snort that shouldn’t have been cute but was.
He did wish. He really did.
* * *
During her twenty-eight years on this Earth, Priya had generated multiple terrible ideas. Like in the fifth grade, when she tried to get the other kids to call her Ashley, or that time in the tenth grade when she gave herself bangs. And then there was Justin. Her brain shied away from that memory. Inviting Brian to sleep with her platonically could probably be added to the list.
She didn’t turn the light on for him. It was his room; he could navigate it in the dark. Plus, she was only wearing a T-shirt and panties. But that meant she couldn’t get a good look at his nighttime attire, either. She couldn’t hear any cloth rustling when he moved. She tried not to think about whether he was naked.
“What side do you want?” she asked.
“Right. That okay?”
“Left’s fine for me.”
She hopped back under the sheets and curled on her side, facing the wall. A moment later, the bed dipped as he lay down.
The air conditioner droned away in the background. And quicker than she thought possible, her body grew heavy. She slid into sleep.
She dreamed she chased Sara through a mirror-filled hall only to be confronted by her own contorted reflection while Sara remained just out of reach. Then the dream changed. She was against the outside wall of the strip club, only this time she faced the wall. Brian pressed against her, his breath against the nape of her neck. She pushed back against his body as her nerve endings lit up with sensation. She needed him inside her now. She spread her legs, desperate, and rocked against his hardness.
As her need soared, her body climbed from sleep, to a half-dream, half-awake state. She was in a bed. A male arm draped over her. He was against her back and she was grinding against the hardness pressed up against her bottom. She wanted to open her legs farther and scream at him to put her out of her misery.
It shocked her to fully awake. She scrambled out of bed. Brian rolled on his stomach. His eyes stayed closed. Morning light peaked through the blinds, revealing that he wore nothing but a pair of black boxers. His shoulders were broad but tapered to a narrow waist and he obviously didn’t neglect leg day at the gym.
She tore her eyes away from temptation. Had he actually managed to sleep through her grinding against him like an alley cat in heat?
She sprinted for the bathroom, closing the door behind her. With shaking hands she turned the shower knob to cold.
* * *
Brian waited until he heard the shower turn on to get up—not that parts of him weren’t up already. He’d woken with a hard-on he could hammer nails with and Priya’s soft backside rubbing up against it. She made sleepy, throaty noises, obviously dreaming. He forced himself to remain still.
They must have moved together during the night, because one of his arms had been slung over her. Under his hand, he felt her soft breast and hardened nipple.
She’s asleep. She’s asleep. She’s asleep, he’d chanted in his head. He should disengage, return to his corner.
Her movement abruptly stopped, telling him she’d woken. He feigned sleep. When she leapt from bed, he rolled on his stomach to hide his erection. She was probably embarrassed and afraid he’d jump her. After all, he hadn’t shown much control when he tried to grind her outside a strip club.
“You’re not the boss of me,” he muttered to his cock once he heard the bathroom door click shut. He rolled out of bed and pulled a fresh T-shirt and jeans out of the bureau. He was playing a dangerous game thinking he could keep her close enough to use without getting burned.
When Priya emerged, he was in the kitchen measuring coffee. She stopped in the doorway. She was wearing the same dress from last night, but instead of being pulled back, her hair was loose about her shoulders and damp from the shower.
“Sleep well?” he asked in an innocent voice. Would she blush?
She looked at the floor for a moment, before meeting his eyes. “Like a baby,” she said. She strolled over to the table and sat down.
He turned to pour water in the coffee maker, concealing his smile.
“So, can we go get my car?” she asked.
“No breakfast? It’s the most important meal of the day,” he said. “Besides, I thought you could give me a list of Sara’s known associates.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you want me to be the one to find her. Trust me, it’s only a matter of time before word gets out that she saw something she shouldn’t have.” He gave her a minute to let his words sink in. Her dark brows drew together. “Coffee?” he asked.
“I’m going with you.”
He gave her a cheerful smile. “Nope.” She had to think leading him to Sara was her idea.
“You’re not going to find her by kicking down doors. You need me.”
He pulled out two coffee mugs. “Cream? Sugar?” He opened the door to his refrigerator. As barren as his current social life. “Hope you like black. Turns out I don’t have cream, or milk, or anything but a six pack of beer and leftover Chinese food.”
“Black is fine. I only use cream for the hospital coffee. It’s beyond bad.”
“Can’t be worse than the sludge down at the precinct. We should serve it to the perps. It’d work better than beating a confession out of them.” He splashed coffee in both mugs. “I’m kidding. We ask our perps questions nicely, giving them plenty of positive reinforcement and hugs.”
When he handed her a mug, she was trying to look disapproving, but the corners of her mouth were lifted.
His cell buzzed from the living room. He rushed over to grab it off the coffee table.
His sister didn’t bother with a greeting, “Don’t forget you’re in charge of the ice,” Emily said.
“For?”
“For the party. Today. Your niece’s birthday.”
“Is that today?” Shit. He’d been so caught up in work, he’d completely forgotten.
“Yes, it’s today, and if you don’t show, my daughter will cry, forcing me to explain how her uncle is a self-centered jerk.”
He could do this. He just needed to make sure Priya didn’t slip away and find Sara without him. “I might be bringing a guest. That okay?”
“Female guest?”
“Yes.”
“To meet your family?” She was laying the amazement on a bit thick.
“It’s not a big deal. She’s just a friend.”
“You’ve never brought a random friend around before.”
He should have kept his mouth shut. “Forget I said anything.”
“No, I want to meet your friend. What’s her name?”
“Priya.”
“That’s pretty. Please don’t tell me you met her when you were working Vice.”
“Actually, I did, but it’s okay. She’s a doctor and I needed some stitches.”
“You’re dating a doctor? Every girl’s dream.”
“I didn’t say we were dating,” he said, as he tried not to grind his molars into powder. “She’s a friend. And we probably can’t stay long because she’s on call,” he lied.
“So does this make you a potential trophy husband? Looking forward to a leisurely life of yoga and brunch?”
“Shut it.”
“Don’t forget the ice.”
He hung up on her.
When he walked back into the kitchen, Priya was sipping her coffee, looking innocent. She’d definitely been eavesdropping. He would have been.
“So, how do you feel about family parties?” he asked.
Chapter Six
Priya knotted her hands together in her lap as Brian parked the car in front of a small two-story house on a narrow tree-lined street in Medford, a working-class town folded into the Greater Boston area. The neighboring houses tucked up snugly to each other and several of the postage-sized front lawns sported religious lawn art depicting the Virgin Mary standing in some sort of giant clamshell. Priya looked down at her bangles and brown skin.
