He straightens, facing me fully now. “You have a no-dating rule? How does that help you with your plan?”
“Because guys are trouble.” I shrug when he blasts me with a joking, dirty look. “What? They are.”
“And you’re not?”
“I never said that.”
He shakes his head, gaping at me. “You’re a really odd girl.”
“You’ve said that, like, six times,” I tell him. “It’s starting to lose its dramatic effect.”
He chuckles, his muscles loosening a bit. “Thank you.”
My brows dip. “For what?”
“For …” He scuffs the tip of his boot against the carpet. “For making me chill out, I guess.”
“This is you chilled out?” I tease. “Wow, I’d hate to see you when you’re really worked up.”
He laughs, then faces the shut door again. “So damn weird.” He plummets back into silence as he stares at the door. “I’m not sure what to do.”
I push away from the wall and move up beside him. “With Alex?”
He nods, his gaze flitting to me. “I’m pretty sure he locked himself in there to shoot up again, which means, even if I pick the lock, he’ll be passed out.”
“Yeah, so? Just carry him out to the car.”
“I would, but …” He blows out a stressed breath. “I just feel like sometimes I’m enabling him by helping him.”
“I can understand why you’d feel that way. I feel that way about my father sometimes.”
He chews on his bottom lip. “What would you do in this situation?”
“Honestly?” I ask, and he nods. “Well, if it was my dad, I’d probably just leave his high-ass here. But only because he’s really starting to wear on my nerves lately. Plus, he’s been pulling shit like this for almost a decade, and we can’t get him to get some help. If it was one of my sisters, though, I’d take them home, let the drugs wear out of their system, and then do whatever I could to either get them in rehab or get them some sort of help. But I love my sisters.”
“You don’t love your dad?”
“That’s a complicated question.”
“I can understand that. My dad’s a real piece of work, but I’m sure you already know that.” He doesn’t wait for me to comment as he stares at the door again, drifting into silence. Then he mutters something under his breath, crouches, and examines the lock. “You have a hair pin or something that’ll pick this?”
“Actually, I do.” I reach up, remove a hairpin securing one of my braids, and hand it to him.
“You come prepared, huh?” he teases as he wiggles the pin into the lock.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to help someone break into a room.”
“Again, I’m not surprised.” He twists the hair pin counterclockwise.
“You know, I feel like maybe I should feel insulted by your lack of surprise in my knowledge of criminal activities,” I tease, slanting back with my boot propped up against the wall.
“But I doubt you will.” The lock clicks, and then he pushes open the door and straightens.
“Nah, I probably won’t. If I did, then I’d spend almost all my time feeling insulted.” I reach to take the hair pin from him, but he tucks it back into my hair. Then he offers me a small smile before walking into the room.
My chest feels sort of weird in that moment. Fluttery. It makes me feel oddly unsettled and restless. Makes me want to smart off to him just to regain control over my body. But watching him cross the small room toward Alex, who is already passed out on a stained mattress with a band wrapped loosely around his arm, a needle beside his hand, I decide to keep my lips fused together.
“You need help carrying him out?” I ask as I step over the broken glass and garbage littering the room.