Chapter 18: Heat of Anger

I drove to Kensington at ten that night in Dani's van.

I had no plan except to say it all again, louder.

He opened the steel door before I knocked.

He had been watching for me from the window. I saw it in his face.

"You don't get to be in the room," I said.

"Eliza."

"I'm not done."

I pointed at him.

"You don't get to stand at the back with your arms folded and watch me do the hard part."

"Then tell me what I do get."

I shoved him in the chest with both hands.

He went back a step into the bare hall and let me.

"You get this," I said. "You get me furious."

"All right."

"Don't say all right!"

I shoved him again. He caught my wrists, not hard.

His eyes were dark, and I could feel his pulse going under my thumbs.

"I have been angry for six days," I said. "I can't sleep."

I swallowed.

"I keep wanting to call you and tell you about Joan in the lobby, and then I remember."

"Tell me anyway."

"No."

"Eliza."

"I hate that I want to tell you," I said.

I kissed him.

It was nothing like the cab or the truck. It was teeth and breath and my fists in his shirt.

He made a sound I felt in my own mouth, and he turned us and put my back against the plaster.

"Rule two," I gasped. "Kisses only when he can see."

"Overruled."

"You can't overrule me!"

"Watch me."

His hand pushed up under my sweater and found my bare skin, and I stopped talking.

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