"Everything okay?" she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
For a moment, I can't speak. Can't think. Can barely remember my own name, let alone whatever I was planning to say about keeping distance between us.
"Yeah," I manage finally, my voice rougher than intended. "Club checking in."
She nods, apparently unaware of the effect she's having on me. "Good. I was just getting some extra blankets for the couch."She gestures to a stack of folded linens on the coffee table. "The house gets chilly at night."
I force my eyes to stay on her face. "You don't have to take the couch. I'm fine with it."
"Absolutely not," she argues. "You're too big for this couch. Your feet would hang off the end by a foot. Besides, I fall asleep here half the time anyway."
She bends to arrange the blankets, and the movement pulls her tank top tighter across her back. I can see now that the tattoo extends beyond her arm, curling slightly onto her shoulder blade—a delicate bird of some kind emerging from the tangle of thorns.
"Your tattoo," I say, desperate for something neutral to focus on. "It's beautiful work."
She glances back over her shoulder, a smile touching her lips. "Thanks. Five different artists over three years. Each rose represents something or someone important."
"And the bird?" I ask, stepping closer without fully intending to.
"Freedom," she answers simply, straightening up to face me. "Or the pursuit of it, anyway."
We're standing closer now, the stack of blankets between us the only barrier. In the dim light of the single lamp, her eyes seem darker, more mysterious.
"Your call," she says after a moment of charged silence. "Is everything okay? Really?"
“Yes. My president wanted to know if I needed backup."
Her eyebrows raise slightly. "And do you?"
"For handling Dylan? No." I shift my weight, suddenly aware of how small the room feels with both of us in it. "I can manage one entitled rich boy and his frat brothers."
"I believe that," she says, and there's something in her tone that sends heat coursing through me. "After watching you tonight, I believe you could handle a lot more than that if necessary."
The admiration in her voice is dangerous, addictive. Makes me want to show her exactly what I'm capable of, in every respect.
"Katty," I start, not even sure what I'm going to say next.
"It's late," she interrupts gently. "And it's been a long day. We both should probably get some sleep."
She's right, of course. Sleep is the sensible option. Tomorrow we need to figure out next steps for handling Dylan, keeping Lilly safe, resolving this situation so I can get back to the club.
"Right," I agree, taking a deliberate step back. "Sleep."
"The bathroom's all yours if you need it," she offers. "I already brushed my teeth while you were on the phone."
I nod, grateful for the practical suggestion that might help cool my thoughts. "Thanks. I'll just be a minute."
In the small bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at me seems both familiar and strange. The same face I've seen for years, but with something new in the eyes. Something dangerously close to hope.
What the hell am I doing? I came here for Lilly, to handle her problem, then return to my life. Not to get tangled up with her best friend, no matter how compelling that friend might be.
I dry my face and return to the living room, prepared to say goodnight and retreat to the spare room. But Katty is still there,now seated on the couch with her legs tucked under her, a book open in her lap.
"Find everything you needed?" she asks, looking up.
"Yeah, thanks." I hover awkwardly, caught between staying and going. "I should let you get some sleep."
"In a bit," she says, closing her book. "I never fall asleep right away. Too many thoughts."
