"That rat bastard," I grumbled, snatching the piece of paper out of Roderick's hand to see if the name sounded familiar to me. "Well, you can do all the stroking you want. I can't bring myself to stroke the egos of silly men."
"That's fine. We're a good team then. I can do the schmoozing. You can do the scaring the piss out of people thing. It's a good balance."
He wasn't wrong.
Balance was what - for all intents and purposes - our team was missing.
Camden was, obviously, a man of action since he had no words. I had a tendency to snap off at the mouth. And Astrid, well, she did whatever she damn well pleased.
There was no voice of reason, no sweet talker, no silver tongue.
We were all a bit rough and abrasive.
It worked for us as a whole.
It was a rough, abrasive life.
But I was seeing now that balance could be an asset when dealing with certain people.
The rest of the day was just never-ending, mind-numbing research. We'd each been on our phones or laptops trying to track down leads, contacts both old and new. Anything.
We ate delivery pizza and drank enough coffee to fuel an army before we all shuffled off to our rooms around two a.m.
"Here," I said, coming back out after changing with two of the pillows from my bed. "I brought you some pillows," I told him as he collected up the plates and cups, bringing them over to the trash and sink - something none of us would think to do until the morning. We weren't - as a whole - neat freaks. Not slobs, either. Just the kind of people who could easily walk past a full sink for a few days until something in it starts to get funky, demanding some actual action.
"Thanks. I think I'll be all set with blankets," he said, jerking his chin toward the couch that was littered with four of them.
"Don't worry about the dishes."
"I don't mind," he said, turning on the water. "My mom would whip my ass if she knew I didn't help clean up when I was staying over."
"That must be nice," I mused, watching as he shot a raised-brow look over his shoulder at me. "Not getting your ass kicked, but having a mom who cares so much."
"It is," he agreed, but didn't ask. Most people would ask. What happened to mine. Where she was. If I had ever known that feeling of a mother's love. He didn't press, demand answers to questions he had no business asking.
There was a throat-clearing, making me turn to find Cam standing there, ready for bed in a pair of black cotton pajama pants and nothing else, showing off a body that was a map of scars.
"I think he wants to make sure you remember to lock your bedroom door," Roderick mused and, what's more, he was right judging by the small-eyed look Cam shot him. "And possibly sleep with a loaded gun on your nightstand," he added making Cam let out a grumbling noise before heading off.
"You're getting a hang of reading him pretty quickly."
"Nah. It's just what any brother figure would think when his girls have a strange man in their house."
That was fair enough. I wondered if Astrid would follow the advice.
"Well, goodnight," I mumbled, feeling oddly awkward in my own home. "Ten a.m.," I reminded him.
"Goodnight, Livvy," he called, the nickname oddly shivering through me, making me full-stop for a second before forcing my feet forward, closing myself in my room, putting a gun on my nightstand, and crawling into bed.
I didn't sleep for a long time.
Not because of my usual reasons.
My predictable insomnia.
My strobe-like flashbacks of bad moments.
No.
See, my traitorous body was overheated despite Cam clearly getting to the thermostat again - likely while walking past Roderick to make sure he was where he was supposed to be.
Overheated.
Breathing a bit ragged.
Heavy chest.
Thrumming sensations in inappropriate places.
Oh, yeah.
There was no denying what was going on in my body.
And who it was toward.
Though, really, it could have just as easily been the delivery man at this point.
I was just hard up.
Any good looking guy would do.
Or at least that was what I was trying to convince myself of.
Goodnight, Livvy.FIVERoderickThey weren't exactly early risers.
Actually, they weren't even remotely early risers.
In fact, I had been up for over an hour before there was any kind of stirring, a stumble, things falling, then a door opening, the scrape of slippers on hard floor before Astrid appeared in the hallway.
Her hair was bed messy, her eye mascara under her eyes, her oversized bright pink pajama pants twisted so that the drawstring was over by her hip instead of her belly.
"Good morning," I said, trying to hold back the smile when the woman fucking growled at me on her path to the coffee pot.