Page 61 of Relapse

Of course she does.

“There he is,” she murmurs smugly. “Thought maybe your personality died overnight.”

I look back at the stove before my brain starts making catastrophic decisions.

I slide a plate onto the counter in front of her.

She eyes it suspiciously before stabbing a piece of egg with her fork.

Then realization visibly hits her again.

Her eyes narrow immediately while she looks around the apartment like she’s only now remembering she’s still here.

Still trapped.

Still under my supervision.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Still wet,” I say. “Hung them outside. They should dry in a few hours.”

Blair blinks once.

Then slowly lowers the coffee mug she just stole from beside the pot.

“Great,” she mutters. “Love that for me.”

The apartment buzzer goes off before she can keep complaining.

Every muscle in my body locks immediately.

So does hers.

Fear flashes across her face so fast most people would miss it.

I don’t.

Never fucking do with her anymore.

I move toward the security monitor while Blair watches carefully from the stool.

Noir stares back at me downstairs through the grainy camera feed, black duffle bag slung over one shoulder while cigarette smoke curls around him beneath the building awning.

Of course he’s here.

I buzz him in without saying anything.

Blair watches me curiously from the stool while absently picking apart a piece of bacon.

Her eyes narrow slightly when she notices the shift in my mood.

The tension.

The irritation already settling into my shoulders before the person even gets upstairs.

Oh great.

Now she’s interested.