Page 14 of Desperate People

Normally, I’d do him a solid.

I’ve made midnight snack runs for her before. Even taken the brunt of her hormonal wrath when the ice cream was too melted.

But not tonight.

Something’s off.

I feel it.

It’s that twitchy, under-the-skin kind of unease.

Like the city’s holding its breath and I’m the only one hearing the silence stretch too long.

My muscles are coiled.

Jittery.

I haven’t touched caffeine in six hours, and I still feel wired.

And that’s when the phone rings.

I huff a low growl and answer without thinking.

“What do you want?”

“That’s how you answer? Real nice, you fuck,” Connor barks, full of righteous indignation.

I sigh. “Hello, Connor. What do you want?”

“Oh, wow. So much better,” he says, voice dripping sarcasm. “So warm. So welcoming. I feel cherished.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“You’re bored, aren’t you?”

“No,” he says, unconvincingly. “Maybe. Whatever. I haven’t seen you in, like, a week. Can’t your favorite cousin check in on you?”

“Is this what you call checking in?”

“Yeah, you ungrateful bastard. This is me checking in! You want a goddamn fruit basket with it?”

Despite myself, I grin.

I pull the phone away a little because he’s yelling again, and it’s too damn loud.

“Okay. Fine. I’m good. Working.”

“Working or obsessively tracking a certain blue-eyed woman?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Balor,” he starts, and I hear it. The worry.

“Don’t.”

I appreciate everything he’s done for me. But I don’t need his concern. Not about this.

Still, I grin cause he’s not lying about being my favorite cousin.

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