"Also no."
"Come on. Be reasonable. I'm putting you out. And you are going to need a good night's sleep. It's not fair for me to hog the bed."
"Savvy, it's fine," I told her as she went to the dresser, grabbing two handfuls of lacy things I tried not to think too hard about, shoving them under her pile of clothes.
"We can share it," she declared, turning back, eyes bright. "It's huge. I mean, I am used to a twin. A king is like two twins. It's plenty of room. If you won't let me take the couch, it is the only fair solution. Say yes."
To sharing a bed with her for the indefinite future?
Everything within me said it was a terrible idea.
If I wanted to maintain our distance.
If I didn't want things to get messy.
Why, then, did my voice completely disregard my head?
"Yes."THREESavea"So how was the sex?"
The question came from Peyton who was perched on the counter in Kingston's kitchen while I carefully chopped up carrots for the stir fry.
Her legs were clad in Day of the Dead skulls that in no way matched her tie-dyed shirt that declared Let's Start a Cult!. Her pastel rainbow hair was pulled into a side braid.
Beautiful, tattooed, pierced, she was single-handedly doing her best to make everyone change their preconceived notions on what a librarian looked like.
"We didn't have sex!" I hissed, narrowly missing the tip of my finger in shock. Turning on my heel, I found her eyes rolling.
"Why not? It's the perfect opportunity. You're upset. Need comfort. He seems like he could be very comforting."
"I had just been chased by men with seemingly homicidal tendencies! That may seem like foreplay to you, but not to me."
It was no secret that Peyton got off on things that scared her. She was the girl who read what could only be called horror porn, who attended underground fight clubs, who went to gay raves on the property of a gun-toting, openly homo-phobic farmer. She was shacked up with a local member of The Henchmen MC - a gun-running biker syndicate.
Getting chased through the streets was just the kind of thing to get her engines revved. I was half surprised that Sugar - her man's road name - hadn't thought to hire someone to chase her around for him yet. Not that their sex life needed any assistance. I crashed at Peyton's quite a bit. I heard things. I heard things I could never un-hear.
"You've wanted King for years, Savvs, years," Peyton reminded me, handing over the soy sauce I had been searching for.
"It was just a little... you know... crush. It's not like anything was ever going to come of it."
"Well, not with an attitude like that."
"You know, most friends would be trying to comfort their friend who just went through a near-death experience."
"I think we established that I was not like most friends when I dragged you to a gay swingers club on your twenty-first birthday."
I'd seen things.
I'd seen things I could never un-see.
"Jamie will be here in a few to dote on you," she reminded me. There was no avoiding them charging in as soon as they heard what had happened. And, I reminded myself, I was supposed to be thankful to have such amazing friends who would be there for me no matter what. It wasn't Peyton's fault that I was feeling on-edge, frazzled.
I had been since Kingston and Nixon had dropped me off with all my things earlier, Nixon heading into the office to handle the work there while Kingston went to 'look into my case some more.' Whatever that meant.
It wasn't that I felt unsafe. The door was locked. Kingston had even engaged the security system before leaving, giving me a sticky note with the code on it, snagging my chin gently, encouraging eye contact I had maybe been avoiding since that humiliating tarantula incident.
"Promise me you'll stay here," he half asked, half demanded. "I won't be able to think straight if I know you're outside this apartment."
The sweet sincerity in his voice sent a shiver through me. Luckily, though, only on the inside. Belly shivers. It had been years since I felt them. They were just as delicious as I remembered.
Nixon had been back once Peyton showed up, dropping a gun on the counter next to her with a curt, "I know you know how to use this. So don't hesitate if you need to. I'm taking Padfoot for a run."
It had taken me ten minutes to get Peyton to stop playing with the very loaded gun. She set it aside with an eye roll, reminding me who she shared a bed with, that she knew more about guns than most NRA enthusiasts.
"You really should have told her it wasn't necessary," I insisted, feeling guilty that everyone was turning their schedules upside down to check in on me.