Page 25 of Don't Go
"What?" I hissed.
"Soft. Your hand."
He held it against his chest. He hummed low and tuneless. It traveled from his chest into my palm and up the inside of my forearm—a vibration I couldn't shake off and was no longer sure I was trying to shake off. His chest was warm through his shirt. His ribs moved with the hum.
"Pretty Sabrina."
I tried to pull my hand back. His hand stayed on top of mine, not gripping, just resting.
"I like you a lot."
There was a skip.
Under my ribs was a single missed beat like—No, Sabrina, don't finish that sentence, don't name it, and don't look at it. Drive the car, drive the car, drive the car. I pulled my hand free and drove the car. I gripped the wheel with both hands. I made the next two left turns and one right and pulled into the lot of my building. I parked outside and got out.
I went around to his side. Then opened the door. He was asleep again.
"Mr. Cross."
He opened his eyes.
"Up. Out."
He got out mostly. He leaned heavily on me.
"Can you walk properly?"
"Walking again."
"Quietly please," I requested.
"Yes, quietlyyy"
We made it through the lobby. We made it to the elevator. He started singing in the elevator, and I clamped my hand over his mouth.
"Shhh. You'll wake the entire building."
He giggled into my palm.
"Sorry," he said into my palm.
"Quietly."
"Quietly," he whispered into my palm.
I unlocked my apartment door. I pushed it open. The living room was dark. Pickles's eyes glowed at me from the back of the couch—two pale blue points in the dark. He took one look at thesituation in my doorway and walked off, dignity intact, padding off to Bonnie's bed in the back room.
I steered Beau toward the couch.
"Sit, Mr. Cross."
"Sitting."
He sat too hard. The couch took the impact. His body dragged me down. I reached out to catch myself. It went badly; I landed in his lap.
Specifically.
His lap.
