As we waded through the destruction, she looked around, as if calculating the damage. I tried to see it through her eyes. Yeah, it was pretty bad, but mostly it was just superficial stuff. By this time tomorrow, the mess would be gone.
"That first room," she said, glancing back the way we came, "why was that so clean?"
"Because no one was allowed in there."
She looked surprised. "And they actually listened?"
"No. But it was locked, so, you know." I'd unlocked it myself when I'd carried her inside. Probably, she'd been too shook up to notice. I shrugged. "It was still off-limits."
"Really?" she said. "Then why'dwego in there? Is it because the rest of the place was trashed?"
"This?" I kicked aside an empty beer bottle as I led her toward the main stairway. "You haven't seen trashed. Should've seen my place last New Year's Eve." I glanced around. "Different house. Same mess though. Times a hundred."
"So why was that first room off-limits?" she asked.
I gave it some thought. "I guess, it's because no matter how many people are here, I like to keep some space private. Just in case."
"Oh." She hesitated. "So, it's uh, for interludes?"
"Interludes?" I laughed. "Wasthatwhat I said?"
"Wasn't it?"
"No." I shook my head. "Definitely not. No interludes there."
"Well," she said in a teasing tone, "it's probably a good thing your friend came in when he did, huh?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you might've broken your own rule."
We were on the stairway now. But at this, I stopped and turned to face her. I gave her hand a squeeze. "Except you're not an interlude." I rubbed my thumb lightly over the side of her palm and said, "You're something else."
She glanced down at my thumb, and I saw her swallow. I was distracting her, but that was the whole point. I didn't want to talk about anything – or anyone – else. The only thing I cared about was right here.
She glanced back the way we'd come, and I could see the wheels turning. For some reason, this wasn't going to go away. So I tried again. "Mostly, the room's an escape hatch."
"From what?" she asked.
"More like from who."
"Then who?"
"Whoever." With her hand in mine, I started walking again. "Come on. Let's get you that shower."
After a couple of steps, she asked, "Are we talking guys or girls?"
Was she jealous? I'd never liked jealous girls. But for some reason, the thought of Chloe getting jealous made me see it differently.
She gave a playful tug on my hand. "Come on, tell me."
Walking beside her, I tried to find a nice way to say that people – even those I might call friends – could irritate the piss out of me. Sometimes, they were too needy, too aggressive, too wrapped up in the whole star-fucker thing.
Sometimes, I just wanted to be a regular guy. And when I couldn't, sometimes, I just wanted to be left alone.
I blew out a long breath and tried to put it in a way that wouldn't make me sound like a dick. "With the guys, well, they're not usually a problem. If they get out of hand, I just, uh –"
She grinned. "Kick their asses?"
