SAMUEL COLERIDGE
Andre smiled. “That was Jace’s mission statement when he started Wicked. He wanted a place lovers could come to without shame. A place where desire and sex were simply seen as natural extensions of people’s love for one another.”
She reread the poem, absorbing the words. “I had no idea he was that much of a hopeless romantic.”
Andre pushed open the door. “He used to be, bella. Life can tear that out of you sometimes.”
Jace turned out not to be in his office so Andre led her to an unmarked door at the back of the building and typed in a code on a keypad to unlock it. “We have to trek up another flight of stairs, but the view’s nice.”
“No problem,” she said as she followed him up, though she wondered why someone who came from gaudy money like Jace chose to live in a walk-up above his business.
Andre peeked back at her and sniffed when he saw her expression. “Don’t ever play poker, Evan. You’ll get taken for everything you’ve got.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You wear your every thought on your face.” He started climbing the stairs again. “Jace lives here because he turned away his family’s money. They won’t give him access to his trust fund unless he returns to the family business.”
“Oh.”
“It’s also why we’re roommates. Helps both of us to split the expenses.”
She sniffed. “That’s not the only reason you live with him.”
He paused, looked back down at her again, his posture rigid. “What?”
“Your poker face isn’t in place all the time either, officer,” she said, her voice gentle. “But don’t worry, he has no clue.”
Andre shook his head, his expression resigned. “I knew you were going to be the death of me, bella.”
When they both reached the top of the stairs, Andre swung open the door to find the TV blaring ESPN and two empty beer bottles sitting on the coffee table, but the living room otherwise empty. She peered over his shoulder. “May have some brooding on our hands.”
They stepped inside the loft, and she locked the door behind her. The place was much bigger than she’d expected from looking up from the street. High ceilings with exposed ductwork, a solid wall of windows draped with simple white curtains at the far end of the place, and gorgeously aged brick walls flanking the left and right sides of the space. Every area was open to the next—kitchen, dining area, living room—with only a few supporting columns here and there. A metal staircase in the corner of the dining space spiraled up to an open second level where the bedrooms were located.
“Wow, y’all aren’t exactly slumming it, Andre.”
He clicked off the television, grabbed the beer bottles off the table, and walked toward the kitchen. “Jace worked a good deal for this when he leased the store space on the two bottom levels. Plus, believe me, it didn’t look like this when we first moved in. Someone had divided up all the space with cheap sheetrock. Took me a year to tear this thing down to the bones and get it in this shape.”
“You did all this?”
He tossed the bottles in a trash can and shot her a deviant smirk. “Haven’t you heard? All Mexicans know how to do construction. It’s like a requirement to be a card-carrying member.”
She rolled her eyes. “Smartass.”
“Nah, I worked at a Home Depot to get through college and took every DIY class I could. After the crap I see every day at work, sometimes it’s nice just to just zone out and hit shit with a hammer.”
“I totally get that.”
He pointed to the windows. “Jace is probably out on the balcony. You should go out there first. You’re better-looking than me, so there’s less of a chance of getting your head bitten off.”
She blew out a breath, trying to shore up her emotions. She needed to make sure Jace was okay and leave. That was it. “All right. Wish me luck.”
She pushed back the curtains and found the sliding door that led to the outside balcony. Jace was perched on the edge of a lounge chair, forearms braced on his thighs, looking off into the greenbelt that bordered the back of the building. His head turned in her direction when she shoved open the door and stepped outside.
His expression remained flat when he saw it was her. “You were supposed to stay with Andre.”
“He’s here, too.”
“Fucking Andre,” he muttered, turning back to stare at the view.