Nate's body shakes with silent laughter.
"No, silly. That's gross. At least, if you're going to sell your body, be a high-end whore and not the kind who stands on corners. Plus, that's illegal in Georgia, and I'm not letting my best friend move to a state that allows it."
This time Nate jars my body when he starts roaring with laughter. He's the kind of person who laughs with every part of their being, and with him holding me tight, my head keeps bouncing against him as he continues.
"She wasn't even that funny," I drone, trying to get off his lap--again. "Seriously, can you let me go? I feel better really. Or I did until your laughing started making me feel like I would be motion sick."
"Just another second," he answers with a smile, his eyes doing the laughing he stopped vocalizing.
I open my mouth to argue, but close it when my front door bursts open, slamming against the wall behind it with so much force that it doesn't bounce back because the doorknob is stuck in the drywall. I blink in confusion at the door, then over at the fuming man standing in the doorway with his fists clenched and his body tense, and then back at my door.
"You're going to fix that," I tell Shane halfheartedly. What is he even doing here? And why the heck is he so angry?
He stomps into the apartment. I look over at Ember to see her smiling like a star-struck teenager with not one ounce of the confusion I feel on her pretty face. I look at Nate next to see him without any hint of the carefree humor he had just moments before. He looks almost ... smug? No, that's not it. He's looking up at Shane with something that appears to be real close to a dare written all over his face. When I turn to regard Shane, though, I'm shocked at the venomous ire he's giving his best friend.
What the heck is going on here?
MY PHONE STARTS RINGING THE second I step out of the shower. I ignore it and continue drying off, taking my time with my mind on a whole lot of everything. I didn't sleep for shit last night. It didn't have anything to do with being unable to sleep because I was awake and everything to do with wanting the company of the woman I could still smell on my sheets. I can't remember the last time I slept as fucking good as I did when she was here with me, and like it or not, I wanted to experience it every time she wasn't here. It's been like that for two damn weeks. If she wasn't here or I wasn't at her place, I couldn't sleep.
After knotting the towel around my hips, I walk into my room and over to the ropes that I had avoided putting away. We've used them so much that they're becoming a permanent fixture to my room. Their reminder today only taunting me with the memory of Nikki's body as she comes apart at my hand. With a sigh, I pick up the ropes, determined to take control over my cravings. Wrapping them up with care, I tuck them back into the drawer on my nightstand. The second my hand pushes the drawer closed, my phone goes off again. With a sigh of annoyance, I walk around my bed to where my phone is charging on the other nightstand.
"What's up?" I greet after seeing the caller on the display.
"It's Nikki," Nate answers, the normal playfulness that he seems to carry around with him completely gone. While it's not abnormal for him to get like this when work is on his mind, something in his tone makes me stand a little straighter.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Fuck, man, I don't know. Em just called me in a panic after Nikki sent her a text. I was right around the corner, so I rushed back home. After handing me Quinnie, she was out the door quicker than I could blink. Luckily, my mom was on her way over already, so when she got there, I left her to watch the baby and I'm on my way to Nikki's place."
"Is she hurt?" I blurt as I rush into my closet, not even looking at what I'm grabbing.
"Don't know. Like I said, Em didn't give me much. I called her when I left the house, and she just said Nikki won't talk to her. That she just keeps crying. Fuck, Shane, I've seen that girl upset before, but she's never had trouble telling Em what was wrong. It's not like her to just fucking shut down."
My adrenaline spikes and I start to move on autopilot. I tell Nate I'll be there and hang up before he has a chance to say much of anything. The only thing on my mind is the woman who hasn't left my thoughts once in two weeks. Longer than that, if I'm honest. I don't even pay attention to the clothes I'm pulling on, jamming my feet into my shoes before grabbing my wallet and keys, my phone still held tight in my palm.
As I reach for the front door, my phone rings again, causing my heart to race and my breath to come in short pants. When I see my sister's name on the screen, I feel a little relief knowing it isn't Nate calling me back with more shit. Unfortunately, I know I can't just ignore the call. Libby worries and won't stop calling until I answer. Always and without fail. Doesn't matter what time of the day it is or what I could be doing, she won't stop until she gets me.
"Libs," I say in lieu of a greeting, slamming my front door and locking it without thought.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, 1mon petit ange." It takes a Herculean effort to keep the panic from my voice, not wanting to freak her out. The same panic I haven't felt in a long fucking time--not since our mom got sick did I feel this helpless worry. I hate it. Hated it then and I really fucking hate it now. It's a big part of my control issues--according to the head doctors, that is.
"Who exactly do you think you're talking to, Shane?" she snaps. She hates when I keep things from her, too. Just like when I ignore her calls, keeping her in the dark never fails to piss her off. If I had been of sound mind, I would've been more careful to keep her from knowing I was agitated.
"Liberty," I stress.