Page 33 of Bottles & Blades

“Tell me more about school,” I say softly, tucking a strand of dark, brown hair behind her ear.

Her eyes sharpen, those plump lips parting, but before she can call me on my obvious attempt at changing the subject there’s a knock at the door.

No.

Apounding.

Loud enough that it shatters any of the mellowness that’s descended between us over the last hour.

Hard enough that it vibrates through the wood, through the walls.

The lock rattles, and I narrow my eyes at it.What a piece of shit. But that thought is here and gone in a second.

Because it seems like it might give way.

I stiffen, start to sit up.

Then a voice echoes through the wood.

Amalevoice.

I’m not starting to sit up.

I’m on my fucking feet, Tiff beside me.

I steady her than move toward the door.

“Wait,” Tiff says, snagging my hand before I get more than a couple of paces away. “Just ignore him.” Her fingers tighten. “If you ignore him, he’ll go away.”

Right.

I’ve now gone from annoyed to worried to fucking pissed to?—

Ready to commit murder.

“Who’she?” I grit out.

“Dave lives three apartments down,” she says. “Most of the times he leaves me alone…”

“And the other times?”

Her throat works.

“Baby,” I warn.

“He does this.” A nod to the door, her words so soft they’re barely audible over the man yelling in the hallway. “Knocks and yells and eventually stumbles his drunk behind into his apartment.”

“Right,” I mutter.

“Right what?”

I gently untangle our hands, nudge her back. “Stay here.”

“Jean-Michel?—”

But I’m already moving to the door, undoing the lock, and throwing it open.

The dickhead on the other side is exactly what I fucking expect him to look like. Bloodshot eyes, wrinkled clothes, hair that’s oily and standing on end, and—Christ—the smell of liquor coming off him hits me like a ton of bricks.

---