Dahlia wasn't stupid. She knew this. It was why she glared at me, though her expression softened a bit. Her animosity gave me a frightening glimpse into the truth of Cyrus's feelings for me.

"Besides," he continued, "I've made it very clear to you that I'm not interested in having you around too often, haven't I?"

Her angry gaze jerked from me to him. "If I hadn't promised your father I wouldn't kill you, I would kill you."

I chuckled at her poorly worded threat. It was a mistake. She shoved Cyrus away and stalked toward me. "Do you have something to say to me?'"

Shaking my head, I smiled. "No, I don't."

She turned back to Cyrus. "You better pray I don't tell your daddy I saw her here."

"My 'daddy' doesn't give a damn about me," Cyrus said with a shrug. "Tell him whatever you want. Just don't bother coming around here again, if you do."

Her manner changed immediately. "Sweetie, you know I'm just playing. Where's your sense of humor?"

"In my other pants, apparently." He kissed her forehead and gave her a shove toward the stairs. "See you next week?"

She glowered at me as she answered, "We'll see." Then she swept up the stairs, and the sound of the slamming door signaled her departure.

Cyrus turned to me with absolutely no humor in his expression. "You're early."

"I didn't realize she'd still be here." I followed him into his apartment. The bathroom was immediately to my right as we stepped through the door. I could see the shower, a bleak white stall, with the water still running.

"We lost track of time." Cyrus walked over—well, took a few steps, the bathroom was so tiny—and turned it off. With absolutely no pretense of modesty he dropped his towel and reached for the jeans slung over the towel rack.

I turned my back. "Whoa, a little warning would be nice."

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," he reminded me smugly. "Well, except for this damn soft stomach I'm getting."

I heard the smack of a hand against wet skin and rolled my eyes. "I always thought you could use a little meat on your bones. Your hips were always so sharp when… "

I let the sentence die. We both knew the when, and it made at least one of us profoundly uncomfortable. I wandered on into the apartment. A sofa bed, unfolded and in disarray from his tryst with Dahlia, took up most of the room. On the far wall were counters, cupboards, a sink, a stove, and a lime-green refrigerator that had probably existed long before my birth. A small bookcase held a few volumes, including a Bible. I looked over my shoulder to make sure he was still in the bathroom before I picked it up.

True to my luck, he came out the second I touched the cover.