“Murph. Open up.” My shoulders relax as I look over to Sierra for the first time since the banging on the door pulled us apart. Before she lets herself relax, I catch a moment of that terrified expression on her face.

Which only makes me feel like a real dick. I can’t stand the thought of her being so scared in my apartment. In my life.

She doesn’t belong here.

I flip back the latch on the door and pull it open to reveal Murph standing there with a less than happy scowl on his face.

“Cops showed up at the shop,” he murmurs, clearly keeping it quiet enough so Sierra can’t hear. It doesn’t do much good because when I look over at her, I can tell she heard. Her eyes are as wide as saucers.

It was fun while it lasted, I think. There’s no way she’s going to stick around now.

“Let me walk her home. Then you and I can talk, okay?”

Murph’s hard expression changes from stern to something close to sorry.

“Make it quick,” he bites out just before turning away and walking toward the staircase on the other end of the hall.

I send him a quick apology, but he only lifts a hand in response. He’s pissed, and he never truly bothers to hide it. Can’t say I blame him. If the cops showed up at my business looking for my junkie employee, I’d be seething too.

When I shut the door and turn toward Sierra, she’s a few steps closer, almost within arm’s reach. I’m going to miss kissing her, and it hits me like a ten-ton truck.

“Everything okay?” she asks, innocently.

I can’t even answer, so I just shrug. “Let me walk you home.”

“Logan,” she says. Suddenly her hand is on my arm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I grab my shirt and throw it on before reaching for my shoes tucked neatly under the bed.

“It does matter. They think you sold Tyler something, don’t they?”

“I wonder who gave them my name.” My voice is laced with sarcasm, and I didn’t mean for that to come out so cold. This has nothing to do with her.

“I was with you the night before Tyler died. I’ve been with you this whole week. I know you didn’t do it.”

“This isn’t Dirty Dancing, Sierra.” My tone is too harsh, but I just want her to leave. Not because I don’t want her around, because I do. Having her in my apartment feels like someone opened a goddamn window to let the light in for the first time. I just don’t like her in this situation. I don't want her mixed up with the cops, drugs, or me.

Look at me, starting to really care about this girl.

This whole week is fucked.

She’s watching me with a stubborn look on her face. She’s not going to give in that easily, I can tell.

After a quiet walk home, she leaves me with a long kiss, a kiss that feels like a promise. One I can’t wholeheartedly return.