CHAPTER TWENTY DUFFY

CHAPTER TWENTY

DUFFY

Riggs wasn’t joking.

Abandoned prisonwasn’t a euphemism for something else.

It was actually where he’d taken me.

“Is that .?.?.??” My breath hitched. I put a hand to my heart, only to find it trying to drill its way out of my chest and run away, like the rest of me should.

Riggs and I were upstate, at the Northeastern Penitentiary, where he’d so far taken hundreds of pictures of eerie kitchens, exposed walls, rat-riddled corridors, and dirt roads. Now we were in a particularly small room, and I was standing in front of a funny-looking seat, running my fingers over its headrest.

“An electric chair?” Riggs crouched on one knee, camera in hand, taking a picture of the chair. “Yup. That’s Old Sparky, all right. Now get out of the frame, Poppins.”

I gasped, jumping back. “Bollocks. I touched it.”

“You do know it’s not plugged in anymore, right?” He moved across the room to take a picture from a different angle.

“So what? I touched it, Riggs.” I was hyperventilating. “People died on this thing. Their eyes popped out while they were sitting here.”

“That’s a myth, kid.”

“Is it, though?”

“They used to cover their eyes so they wouldn’t roll on the floor and weird everyone out.” He snapped his gum, taking position on the other side of the room, his camera click-click-clicking away. “Besides, it’s not like now that you touched it, the ghost of a gnarly-looking executed murderer is going to chase you.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” I clutched my stomach.

“I see a theme here.” Riggs chuckled. “You should get checked for reflux.”

Mumbling something unintelligible toward him, I created more space between the chair and me. The chair was rooted to the floor, its red vinyl pads still pristine, in contrast to the ruins around it.

Wait a minute. Red vinyl pads .?.?.

It was a barber chair.

I hurried to Riggs, smacking his shoulder. Said shoulder was already quivering with barely restrained laughter, making the camera shake in his hands.

“You bastard!”

“Come on! In the words of every asshole who deserves to be locked behind bars for rape—you were asking for it.” He snickered, straightening.

“Just like them, you deserve to be castrated.” I shoved at his chest.

He grabbed my wrist and kissed the inside of it, in the sensitive spot where you spritz your perfume. “That’s very convenient of you, Daphne.”

Daphne?“Convenient how?” I eyed him suspiciously.

“You using the goods, then throwing them away.” He gave me his back. “Grab my backpack. Let’s get more pictures of those rusty exposed pipelines. They were cool.”

I grabbed his heavy backpack, trailing behind him. Riggs had put me to work in the five hours we’d spent together. If I thought he was going to hand me free cash because he felt bad for me, I was sorely mistaken. I set up umbrella reflectors, carried his equipment, cleared spaces he wanted to take pictures of, fetched him water, did all the driving from prison to prison, and kept a chart of all the places we’d been to, the names, the rooms, the history—everything.

As we were working, I was already writing down notes about each section of the penitentiary, which Riggs could later give to his editor. To be honest, I loved doing this more than any job I’d held in the news. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was fascinating. It made me rethink my entire way of operating. What if money wasn’t the most important thing after all? What if it was passion for life that gave you satisfaction? There was something about capturing a moment in time—a moment you were present in, that belonged uniquely to you—that called out to me. I thought about all the times I’d pulled out my album pictures from the attic to revisit my favorite memories, and realized I liked timeless things. Pictures were timeless. The news? Fluid and ever changing.

The prison we were in had operated from 1842 to 1966 and housed some of the most lethal criminals and murderers in New York’s history. At least 215 men had been executed here. It felt surreal to be in such a place. I hadn’t felt this challenged, this alive, this acute, in a long time.

We were walking through a long corridor with high ceilings and cobwebs and dirt everywhere. The place looked like it was caving in to itself.

“Didn’t you say you have a few more prisons to take photos of tomorrow?” I pried, trying to keep up with my fake husband’s pace.

He was still snapping his gum, flipping through the pictures on his camera without slowing down. “Yeah. Why? You in the mood to make more cash?”

I pressed my lips into a thin line. It wasn’t just the money. I was genuinely having fun.

“Two more grand wouldn’t hurt,” I admitted demurely.

He laughed, slinging his camera over his shoulder. “I bet.”

I was surprised by how professional Riggs was. Ever since we started working, he had been laser focused. He was a completely different creature and had a strong work ethic. He was serious, talented, innovative, and above all .?.?. he took really bloody good pictures. I would hang them on my wall if I could ever afford them.

Well, maybe not the ones we were taking now, of rusty pipes, but still.

“Let’s see how your trial run goes.” Riggs cut a corner suddenly, and I followed his lead.

“Rubbish!” I cried out. “You know I’m the best employee you’ve ever had. Possibly the only one, but also—”

I sent my foot forward and suddenly felt nothing but air beneath it. We were on the third floor of the building. I had a cartoon moment as I looked down beneath me and realized I was in the air.

Oh, shit. I’m going to die.

Riggs grabbed the back of my dress quickly and pulled me with a low growl. I staggered backward and fell on my arse.

Holy hell. He saved me from a sure death. One of the building’s outer walls was missing.

“You okay?” He squatted, offering me his hand. I took it, still panting. Adrenaline laced through my veins like poison, and I felt sick with fear and relief.

“I .?.?. I think so. Whoa.”

“Yeah.” He glanced around us, dark fury clouding his features. “I’m going to rip Emmett a new one for not telling me about this missing wall. You sure you aren’t hurt? You took a tumble.” His hands were all over my face and shoulders, and they were shaking. Why were they shaking? And why did I find it more pleasurable than any encounter I’d had with BJ?

We were standing in a tiny cell. The brick walls were completely covered in moss, and there were dozens of old, doorless laundry machines stacked in lines. But the most interesting thing was the missing wall. A part of the building had collapsed, which made for an amazing view. Endless green fields with high weeds swayed under the sun.

“I’m sure.” I dusted myself off. “I’m a little shocked, but I’m fine.”

“Good.” He rolled his tongue over his inner cheek. “Because you on the floor with your panties exposed brought back good memories.” He grinned.

What .?.?.?? Ohhh. The night at Gretchen’s. Of course.

But also .?.?. Gretchen. That cow.

I hadn’t thought of her for so long, too busy with the fake wedding, the visa, and BJ. Had Riggs been in contact with her? He hadn’t talked about her since the day at her office, but I wasn’t so stupid to think they didn’t sleep together anymore. Which made me queasy. Sharing a knob with Gretchen Beatty was a bitter pill to swallow.

“What’s wrong, Poppins?” Riggs peered into my face. I really had my heart on my sleeve, didn’t I? “You sure you aren’t hurt?”

“Yes, yes.” I wiped my forehead. “Brilliant.”

I didn’t want to ask him, but I didn’t want to not-ask him either. I needed to know.

It was already three o’clock, and we still hadn’t had our lunch, so I decided this was a good opportunity to redirect the subject.

“I packed us some lunch!” I said, perking up. “You know, because I’m the best assistant in the whole world and you should absolutely hire me tomorrow. Shall we take a break?”

He frowned. “I say I need to see what you packed first. You’re very good at making gross food—no offense.”

I shot him a scowl. “Sandwiches.”

“With carbs? And meat? And flavor?” He squinted suspiciously.

“A breadless lettuce sandwich for me and a normal wheat sandwich for you. With salami and cheddar and plenty of sodium and cholesterol.”

Riggs nodded. “You speak my love language.”

But when we sat down with our sandwiches, the great vibe we had going all day was gone.

“So, you planning on going back home for a visit soon? Take advantage of your vacation?” Riggs took a bite.

“Hmm, no.”

“Why?”

I ducked my head and blushed.

“Right. Money.” He said the word like it was dirty.

“Actually, not just money,” I said. “I can’t leave the US while my visa application is processing.”

Which was a shame, because I missed my family dreadfully.

“Any other summer plans?” he probed.

“Not really.” I nibbled on my iceberg lettuce, which had veggies, tofu, and quinoa inside it. “I should probably start working on my contacts in the city, though. Put myself out there.”

“Find another rich groom to lock down?” he asked wryly.

I ignored his jab.

“Might get a facial next week. I have an unused voucher.” I shrugged, staring at my food dispassionately.

He scratched his head. I looked everywhere but at him. After two full minutes of silence, he snapped.

“Okay, can you tell me what the fuck happened between my saving your ass and you acting like I pushed you to your death? Because I know you’re not this boring.”

“How do you know?” I challenged, annoyed that he’d called me out on my childish behavior.

“Because”—he let out an exasperated growl—“you’re the only woman in the world I like to speak with. And before you call me a pig, I don’t like talking to men either. So just tell me what I need to apologize for and we’ll call it a fucking day. I don’t wanna hear about your facials.”

I stared at him, miserable. I wanted to ask about Gretchen, but I knew the wrong answer would leave me agonized. BJ cheating was bad enough, but Riggs .?.?. I mean, no need to pile on the bad news.

“Nothing.” I pursed my lips.

“Spill it or you’re fired,” he said with a straight face.

“You can’t fire me—the day’s almost over.”

“Fine. Then forget about tomorrow. I’ll give the job to somebody else.”

“You don’t know anyone else who needs the money.” Oddly, his friends were really rich.

“Charlie,” he said.

Shoot.Charlie would love tagging along with Riggs. Double shoot. I hadn’t checked on him, even though I’d been meaning to.

Might as well get it over with.

“Are you still .?.?.” I gulped, buying time.

He raised an eyebrow, losing patience. “Am I still what?”

“In touch with Gretchen?”

His eyebrows creased. “This is what got your panties in a twist?”

I hitched a shoulder up. “Let’s admit it, my knickers have been twisty since last night, when you refused to get rid of them.”

He smirked. “Jealous?”

I barked out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. My only feelings for you are fondness and friendship.”

“I meant of Gretchen.” He stared at me like I was insane as he took a slow bite of his sandwich.

“Right. Of course. I knew that.” I smoothed my dress over my legs, thinking about it. Was I jealous of Gretchen? Or had I been? I wanted to be honest with him, with myself. And I also wanted to know the answer to that question, because I never dared to ask that of myself.

“I think I envy her,” I admitted, finally.

He ripped another piece of bread with his teeth. “What’s the difference between jealousy and envy?”

“Envy builds you and jealousy destroys you.” I rolled a piece of lettuce between my fingers. “Envy is wanting something someone else has and being inspired by it. Jealousy is knowing you could never have it. And though they oftentimes wear similar masks, you can always tell them apart. Jealousy will be louder, unrestrained, and often public.”

Riggs reached to ruffle my hair. I secretly loved when he did that.

“You’re smart, Poppins.”

I bloomed under his hooded gaze, feeling prettier and smarter than I ever had before, and wondered if this was how love felt. To feel like you completely belong and are worthy, even when showing your true self.

“So that means Gretchen was jealous of you, and you were envious of Gretchen,” Riggs concluded. “Because what I’ve seen in her office was sure unrestrained and public.”

“What could Gretchen be jealous of?” I let out a bark of a laugh. “She has everything, and I have nothing.”

“You have youth,” he pointed out. “And wits. You’re funny, you’re smart, you think on your feet, and—fine, I’ll give it to you—you’re a great employee, and she knows that.”

“Maybe.” I hmmed. “But that doesn’t answer my question—are you still in touch with her?”

He gave me a smart-ass smirk. “No comment.”

I wanted to strangle him for not giving me a straight answer, but I didn’t sulk and forced myself to take part in our conversation as we finished our sandwiches.

“So .?.?. how long have you been a mountain climber?”

“Mountaineer,” he corrected. “Since I was eighteen. But even before that, I liked climbing shit. Rooftops, trees, whatever.”

“You really want to die, don’t you?” I squeezed a pitted olive between my fingers, watching it spurting oil.

He laughed. “Actually, climbing a roof when intoxicated is much more dangerous than climbing Everest with the help of oxygen bottles, a Sherpa, and months of preparation.”

“What’s the appeal, though?” I asked, genuinely wanting to know.

Riggs made a shocked face. “You’re asking me what the appeal is in reaching the highest point a human could set foot on?”

I nodded, shrugging. “I don’t get it.”

“Well, believe it or not, I don’t get the appeal in laminating supermarket lists.” He set his elbow on my knee casually, and my heart did something funny in my chest. “But seriously. I get off on the notion my body is capable of crazy shit. Mountain climbing speaks to that part of me that wants the validation that I’m Peter Pan.”

“Peter Pan?”

“Forever young.”

I didn’t say anything, I was processing, when he did the impossible and actually volunteered some information on his own accord.

“I climbed them all. Mount Everest, K2, Kangchenjunga—”

“Not all of them,” I noted, remembering his inner-arm tattoo.

He elevated an eyebrow. “Did I leave out anything? You know that Mountain Dew isn’t real, right?”

“Not Denali. And since mountains are measured from base to summit, Denali is technically taller than Mount Everest.” Yup, this girl googles. Watching him, I carefully added, “Don’t tell me you’re scared of climbing Denali.”

Instead of taking the bait, Riggs smirked, looking proud. “You know why I didn’t climb Denali.”

“Because you never want to visit Alaska.”

“Ten points to the woman with the pretty purple eyes.” He grabbed the bottle of water I’d brought for him, chugging it down.

“Why is that?” I pressed. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s afraid of anyone or anything. What’s in Alaska that makes you so terrified of visiting there?”

Tipping his chin up, Riggs watched me through hooded eyes. I could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. How much should he tell me? And why should he, anyway?

“We might need that for the marriage-based immigration interview.” I licked my lips, swallowing. “I should know.”

“Why would they care that I’ve never visited Alaska?” He frowned.

“Because!” I laughed nervously. “They’ll see that you’ve climbed all the other mountains. Your name is on the internet. You’ve done interviews. They’d want to know if you confided in me. Your loving wife.”

It sounded like such a fantastically daft excuse, even to my own ears. And still, Riggs looked like he was torn between talking about it and shutting me down.

I waited quietly, holding my breath. I didn’t know why it was so important for me to hear his Alaska story. Maybe because I knew, deep down, that he’d never shared it with anyone else.

“Guess it all boils down to mommy issues.” He sighed, kicking back on his elbows, stretching his long legs.

“I thought your mom was from San Francisco?” I asked tentatively.

“She was. She died in Alaska, though.” There was a pause, in which I could see him physically struggling to push the words out of his mouth.

“Alaska was the last place she’d run to after my grandfather told her to get her shit together and take care of me. Her no-good boyfriend was there, so that’s where she went. Apparently, once she got there, she found Nameless Boyfriend in a compromising position with a teenybopper who wasn’t her and lost her shit. She stole his pickup truck and drove off. Wanted to stick it to him, I guess.” A bitter smile marred his beautiful face.

A terrible feeling crept over me, and I couldn’t help but flinch, my muscles stiff, as I braced myself for what he was about to tell me.

“She might’ve been drunk or something, though they never found anything in her system.” Riggs clucked his tongue. “Or maybe she committed suicide. Who the hell knows? All I know is that she drove herself right off the road with complete disregard for who she left behind. The bottom line is, Alaska made me an orphan—not just a kid with troubled parents, a straight up orphan—and, irrational or not, I refuse to set foot in it.”

“I don’t think it’s irrational,” I said quietly, drawing circles with my fingers over the dust on the exposed concrete. “I think you’re protecting yourself. That’s smart.”

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. I stared at him, mesmerized.

“But maybe you’re not an orphan after all,” I heard myself say. “Did you ever try to find your father?”

His eyes snapped open. “Shouldn’t he be the one to try to find me?”

“Ideally,” I admitted. “But we don’t live in an ideal world.”

“Ideally, he’s currently six feet under.”

“It wasn’t his fault that she died.” My voice was so quiet I was surprised he heard me.

“Maybe.” His elbow was still on my knee, and his fingers tapped my leg absentmindedly. “But it was his fault she ran away. He was a cheater. That’s why I’m not big on relationships. I don’t want to cheat and don’t want to be cheated on.”

His words singed a path into my heart. His reasons for never wanting to settle down were all serious, thought through, and meticulous. That was enough to warn me against developing any kind of feelings for him. He wasn’t going to change his mind.

But the need to make him feel better took over every cell in my body. I couldn’t bear the idea that he was unhappy. I rolled onto my side. My bare knees hit the gravel and dust on the floor. I pushed my palms against the ground and crawled into his lap.

“Riggs,” I whispered. He didn’t answer, his eyes closed. The heat of his body rolled off his skin. Hesitantly, I pressed my hand to his stubbled cheek. It felt like the roles were reversed. A girl warrior saving a sleeping beauty of a prince.

“Riggs.” I let my fingers skim over his face, run over the sharp angles of his cheekbones, trace the shape of his lips. “I know you’re awake.”

“Stop touching me,” he answered gruffly.

Instead of feeling hurt and disappointed, I smiled. “Why?”

“Because you’re making me want to bump uglies again, and apparently yesterday was a one-off.”

I was glad his eyes were still closed. It spared me the embarrassment of being seen as red as a beet.

“It doesn’t have to be a one-off.” I could barely hear my own voice.

He popped his eyes open. He had that sultry James Dean look, a moment before he crushed your heart into fine sand.

“I’m the same,” I admitted quietly. “Well .?.?. not the same. I do have a family. I’m very lucky and grateful for that. But my issues stem from the same dark place yours do. My biological father left us when Kieran and I were three. Just buggered off to an unspecified place in the world with his new girlfriend. One day, he just wasn’t there anymore. Cell phone changed, no trace. Mind you, he was still married to Mum, which made her getting a divorce quite a pricey and long process. I don’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t met Tim. We wouldn’t have survived.” I pursed my lips, realizing I hadn’t admitted this to anyone before, not even to BJ. Not even Kieran. “In the years before Tim, we couldn’t afford electricity. We could barely afford bread. Kieran and I would sleep huddled together long after it was appropriate just to keep each other warm during the winters. People at school would throw sandwiches at me because I didn’t bring a lunch box. Sometimes I was desperate enough to go back and pick some of them up, and eat them in secret, in the loo. I always blamed him, though. My dad.”

I inhaled deeply, trying to stop myself from shaking. “When Tim entered the picture, things began to change. We’re doing a lot better now. But I think .?.?. I think the damage has been done. I have daddy issues. Maybe that’s why I accept BJ. I think deep down I’ve come to the realization that if I cannot have the security of being loved unconditionally by a man, at least I should marry one who’d make sure I’d never be like my mum. Merely scraping by, counting the pennies every week before she went to the shops.”

Riggs stared at me, looking both sexy and contemplative. After a long silence, he reached to tuck a flyaway behind my ear.

“Thank you for sharing this with me.” His voice was rough with emotions.

I smiled. “I’m better now. Even though I’m a gold digger.”

“I’m better too,” he assured me. “Even though I’ll never fall in love, have children, do the whole mundane-life shit.”

“What are you thinking about?” I let my fingers travel down his chest.

“I’m thinking .?.?.” He bit his inner cheek, his eyes becoming smoldering in a nanosecond. “Why is the objective of golf playing the least amount of golf? Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of golfing?”

“Wh-what?” My fingers stopped moving across his chest, and I blinked in confusion. To my expression, he threw his head back and laughed. I started laughing too.

“You’re such an eejit,” I murmured.

“To answer your question.” He rearranged himself while I was still atop him. “I’m wondering what you taste like.”

“You already know what I taste like, silly.”

“No.” His gaze traveled down between my thighs. “Not in the way I want to.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Two O’s.” He winked, then took my hand and put it on his hard-on through his pants. “Guaranteed.”

He crashed his mouth against mine, thrusting his tongue between my lips. He knocked the oxygen out of me, and I had no choice but to surrender, my toes curling in my sandals as he deepened the kiss, conquering every part of my mouth while flipping our positions, with him towering over me again and me pinned on the ground beneath him.

There was something almost punishing about the intensity of that kiss, of his weight pressing against mine. Like I’d pried his secret out of him—and now I needed to pay.

Reaching down, he grabbed my arse cheeks and pressed my core against his erection, releasing a feral growl. This was divine torture.

“Riggs—” I was about to give him the okay to ravish me to a point of extinction when he dragged his hard-on against me, making my entire body clench in anticipation. My clit throbbed. I didn’t understand it. We’d touched for an entirety of eighty seconds, and I was already so close to the edge.

“Ahhhh.” I let my head drop to the floor, not caring about how filthy it was. “Please suck at oral. I cannot afford to be married to a sex legend.”

His muffled chuckles reverberated inside my body as his mouth moved slowly from my neck south. “You’re the best thing to happen to me this year, Poppins.”

I wished he hadn’t said that, because my systems were crashing all over to this statement. Moving from Goodness, he really likes me to Just this year? How seasonal. How small. How insignificant.

Before I could dwell on his last sentence, his mouth clamped onto one of my tits through my dress and bra, creating a warm, wet stain that engulfed it. I shivered, lust coursing through me. The pleasure was unbearable, and it built up even more when his hot mouth moved across my dress farther down, leaving damp, hot kisses I could feel through the fabric.

Then he did something terrible and decided to focus on kissing my hip bone, again and again and again. I wriggled and wailed, thrusting my groin up toward his face savagely. I’d never realized how sensitive that region of my body was. Each time his tongue swirled around my hip bone teasingly, I giggled, feeling a wetness pooling in my knickers.

“Please, just stop.” My teeth sank into my lower lip.

He stopped immediately, raising his head to look at me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I barked.

“You told me to stop.” He smirked.

“Ohmigod, continue!”

“Getting mixed signals over here.”

I took his hand and brazenly shoved it between my legs. Even through my knickers, my body gave a clear message. “I’m ready for the final act!”

“You’re really bossy for an employee, you know that?” Riggs finally—finally!—decided to put me out of my misery, flipping the hem of my dress up and reaching to stroke me through my underwear.

“I’m not wearing my employee hat,” I informed him, pressing against his hand, begging for more friction. “I’m wearing my wife hat.”

“Well, Mrs. Bates.” He tugged my knickers to one side, the tip of his index finger tracing my opening deliciously slow. “You may leave your metaphorical hat, but all the other clothing items, I’m getting rid of.”

He pushed my dress all the way up my neck and released my breasts from my bra without removing it, pushing it down. He dipped his head between my legs and, with my panties still drawn to one side, had his first taste of me.

I shuddered all over. “Had I known sex could be this way, I’d actually give it a real go.”

Riggs bit and nibbled, licked and stroked, but completely ignored my clit. I took it to mean he wanted to spare both of us the embarrassment of my reaching an orgasm before the event even started.

But this was almost worse. The bringing me to the edge, only to pull me away, was horrible. It was surreal. Watching his blond head between my legs and the backdrop of a summer field overlooking the abandoned prison we were in. I realized that one day I was going to remember this moment—replay it in my head countless times—as one of my sweetest, most cherished and joyful moments. I couldn’t, for the life of me, think of one moment with BJ that could compete with the total bliss I was feeling right now.

“I’m sorry,” Riggs groaned between my legs, his hands hiking up to catch my waist and pin me down so I couldn’t fidget.

“Sorry for what?” I mumbled, confused.

“I can no longer not pay attention to this beautiful clit of yours.”

His lips closed down on my clit, and he sucked on it hard before using the tip of his tongue to stroke it.

I fell apart. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. The sheer pleasure was so foreign, so potent, I thought I might expire in his hands.

Death by an orgasm.Not the most elegant way to go, but a lovely one nonetheless.

After my climax had subsided, Riggs fell next to me like a heavy beast, our shoulders brushing. I turned to him, grinning. “My turn.”

He shook his head. “I hate reciprocated oral sex. The second one to give the goods always does it out of obligation.”

I frowned. “That’s not true. I want to do that. I’ve been wanting to do that since .?.?.” I hesitated.

Riggs stared at me intently.

“Since I first saw you,” I admitted. “Oh, blast it. I said it out loud, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he confirmed. “And I believe you. But now’s not a good time.”

“When then?”

“Surprise me. I’m not short of morning wood, and you’re not short of waking up way too damn early.”

Ten minutes later, we were already up on our feet and dressed. The space between my thighs was still throbbing and pulsating.

“Grab the gear. We’re outta here,” Riggs said, heading out through the laundry room like he hadn’t just served me with the best oral sex of my life.

I followed him, watching his muscular back and his lithe movements. Guess we were back to being an employer and an employee.

“Poppins?” he asked, his back still to me.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not in touch with Gretchen. Haven’t been since that day in her office. Stopped taking her calls.”

“How come?” My heart beat so hard I could swear it was bruised and mangled in my chest.

Riggs didn’t turn to look at me or break his stride. “Nobody says things like that to my wife and keeps their teeth to repeat them.” He pulled the door open for me. “Since they cost a fortune at the dentist, I spared her teeth, but I’m done picking up her calls.”

Undiluted pride filled my chest, spreading to other organs in my body. Or maybe it wasn’t pride. Maybe it was something much more dangerous.

Something that I didn’t want to think about.

Something I had never felt in my entire life.

By the time we got back into the city, it was already late in the evening. The sun hung low, grazing the skyscrapers.

Riggs and I lazed to our front door. I was exhausted. I couldn’t remember the last time my limbs had felt so deliciously sore.

“Please tell me you’re too pooped to make a salad smoothie or whatever and that we can just order in.” He pushed the door open for me with his shoulder.

I sighed. “You’re a bad influence.”

“The good one is boring, so don’t pretend like you aren’t having fun.”

We took the stairs up side by side, even though the stairway was narrow. He slowed down to my pace.

“Fine,” I bit out. “As long as it’s Thai.”

“Fuck Thai.” He took his equipment from me, probably realizing I was about to drop and break it. “We had that last week. Let’s try the kebab shop down the street.”

“I don’t eat kebab,” I informed him. “Or any other fatty meat.”

“But you just said earlier you wanted to blow me.”

I swatted his shoulder on autopilot. We had routines now. That was terrifying. Riggs laughed, but when we rounded the stairway to our floor, the laughter died in his throat. We both halted. Charlie was in the hallway, trying to pick a lock.

Ourlock.

“Charlie?” I frowned. “You all right, mate?”

“Yeah .?.?. yeah .?.?.” Charlie—big, tall, handsome, movie-star-look-alike Charlie—spun slowly on his heel, looking left and right. More than anything, looking confused. “I’m just .?.?. I think I forgot my key?”

“And your door,” Riggs muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, “Let’s track your last steps. Where’d you come from just now?”

“The diner, I think.” Charlie grimaced. “Or was it yesterday?”

Riggs and I turned to each other. What was going on? Charlie didn’t look drunk and didn’t smell drunk. This seemed more like an episode of sorts.

“Charlie .?.?.?,” I said softly, stepping forward. “I think you’ve got the wrong door.”

He whipped his head toward my door and scratched his head. “Huh. Right. Mine says twenty-four, not twenty-two.”

“We can call a locksmith,” I suggested.

“I don’t have anything on me,” Charlie said, patting his front pockets. “No ID, no wallet .?.?.”

My gaze instinctively dropped down to said pockets, and I let out a gasp, slapping my mouth. There was a large, round stain around his groin area. He’d soiled himself. This vital, handsome grown man, who wasn’t intoxicated or impaired in any way I could see, had peed himself.

Riggs must’ve seen the same thing, because he made his way toward us quickly, inserting himself as a buffer between Charlie and me, like the sweet man could ever hurt me.

“Why don’t you head inside, Poppins? I’ll join you in a second.”

My eyes snapped from Charlie’s pants to my husband. My mouth was still agape.

“I .?.?. I .?.?. he said he doesn’t have any docs on him. No wallet. A locksmith won’t open the door for him.”

“I’m not calling a locksmith,” Riggs said dryly.

Was he going to break into Charlie’s flat? That was a terrible idea. Charlie was renting, like me.

“Riggs, you can’t—” I started, then saw the resolute look on his face. My shoulders sagged. “I’ll be inside.”

“Thank you,” they both said, in harmony.

Same tone. Same voice. Same low rumble.

I turned to look at them again, blinking. And suddenly, I saw something very horrible and potentially very destructive. And also improbable.

You’ve watched too many soap operas. Stars do not align this way in real life.Only this wouldn’t be a case of stars aligning. More like a supernova full of explosions and multiple casualties.

“Well?” Riggs grumbled in frustration, no doubt eager to help Charlie without my watchful eye.

“Right. I’m leaving.”

I closed the door to my flat behind me and plastered my back against it, panting.

Reeling from my new discovery.