Chapter 10: Her Terms

"Take me upstairs," I said.

He lifted his head from my neck.

"Lacey, the dryer is still running."

"Then it can run without us."

He laughed against my collarbone, helpless, and lifted me down off the folding table.

My legs weren't quite working.

He took my hand and picked up the basket of scrubs with his other arm.

We climbed the stairs without letting go.

My heart pounded in my chest.

At the top there was one door, and I had the key.

I put it in the lock myself.

His apartment was dark and warm, and it smelled like him, soap and coffee and clean cotton.

I saw a couch, a bookshelf, a lamp with a green shade, and a window full of the city's orange night.

He put the basket down on the floor and did not turn on a light.

"You're sure," he said, behind me.

"You keep asking."

"I'm going to keep asking."

I turned around and found his shirt with both hands.

"Then I'll keep saying yes. Do you want me to say it every ten minutes? I can set a timer."

"Don't be funny," he said. "I'm trying to be good."

"I don't want you good."

I pulled the shirt up over his head.

He let me.

He stood there in the lamplight I had switched on, broad through the shoulders, with the long scar down his left arm.

He was waiting for me to tell him what to do.

That went through me hotter than anything he could have done.

I put my palm flat on his chest.

His heart was going hard under it.

"Lie down," I said.

His eyebrows went up.

"Lacey."

"I'm in charge tonight, Landlord. Those are my terms."

He gave a short, dazed laugh, and walked backward until the bed caught the back of his knees.

He sat.

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