Betrayals (Cainsville 4)

We stopped at Ricky's place. I kept extra clothes there, so Gabriel had me shower and change and then he disposed of what I'd been wearing.

An hour later, we were in Gabriel's apartment. He poured us both a Scotch and we settled on the sofa, which we'd moved in front of the window.

"You should leave it here," I said. "I know an interior designer would have a fit..."

"Yes, that was my concern. That I'd horrify all the interior designers I invite up here."

I smiled and tucked my feet up under me as I sat sideways on the sofa. He attempted to get comfortable, which for Gabriel meant facing forward and slouching an entire quarter of an inch.

"You need a bigger couch."

"I don't believe they come much bigger. Not if they'll fit through my door."

"Get one with two recliners. Then we can sit and stretch out and...talk to the window. Huh. I don't suppose they come with the recliners on an angle, so we can partially face each other while still looking out the window."

"I believe they would call that two separate recliners. Which can be placed at any angle you desire."

I made a face. "I want a sofa."

"I will refrain from pointing out that it's actually my apartment."

"Oh, I know, how about one of those big circular ones? It's very seventies, but it looks comfortable. And if I doze off, you can just leave me there."

"I already do that. On this couch."

"Which isn't uncomfortable."

"There's also the floor."

I slid down to it. "Not bad."

"I meant for sleeping."

I pulled down two pillows, arranged them on the floor, and settled in. Gabriel gave a deep sigh, and lowered himself beside me.

"Okay, this works," I said. "Now what you need is a fireplace."

He laughed. A deep laugh that echoed through the room, and it was wonderful to hear, and I curled up, feeling the warmth of it, like hot cocoa on a cold day.

"Right there." I pointed in front of us. "But it has to be really low to the floor, so it doesn't interfere with the view. Nothing can interfere with the view."

"Of course."

"And just think, I haven't even started drinking yet."

He smiled at me, a smile as real as his laugh. His unabashed I-forgot-I'm-not-supposed-to-do-this smile, the one I usually only got after he'd had a glass of wine, the one that fades his eyes to the warmest blue imaginable. Winning that smile is like acing my SATs and running a marathon all in the same day.

I sipped my Scotch, and he did the same, and we sat, staring out the window and drinking, letting the night settle on us, until the alcohol worked its way into my system, tugging my mood down just enough that I said, "I shouldn't be joking around tonight, should I?"

"Hmm?"

"After what happened. With Ciro. I shouldn't joke and goof off."

"If you're feeling bad about not feeling bad enough, I do believe you're talking to the wrong person."

"What do you fee--?" I cut myself off sharply and put my glass down with a click against the hardwood. "Sorry. That was rude. I'll blame the booze and apologize."

"No need. It is, I realize, considered a nonintrusive question from a friend." He eased back against the sofa, long legs stretching, and then looked my way, his head reclining against the cushions, eyes bright. "I understand concepts even if I don't embrace them."