Peter’s jaw ticked under the skin. He’d never won an argument with me before, and his frustration was familiar in a way I couldn’t deny was comforting.

“What do you want, Peter. I have to change and head to Trex’s.”

Peter hesitated then approached. “I want to hold your hand,” he said. “Touch you. Anything.”

“Negative.”

He sighed. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you, and how hard it is to be this close to you now?”

“Not my problem,” I said, crossing my arms.

He looked at me, his cheeks flushed. “You were my best friend. You love me. You miss me. I know you do.”

I stared at him for a moment then shook my head. “Never like I loved Matt. You were a crush, Peter. That’s all.”

“So you’re finally talking about him in the past tense? Took you long enough.”

“I will punch you in the throat.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” he said, making his way to the door. I knew he would stop at the threshold, and he did.

Peter’s shoulders sagged, and he returned to me. “I’m glad you’re here, in a sick-to-my-stomach, crack addict kind of way.”

“Thank you.”

He walked into my kitchen and opened the empty fridge. “Do I need to send someone to the store for you?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head as my expression screwed into disgust.

Peter laughed once, walking past me, briefly touching his hand to the small of my back. “Good night.”

“Bye, Peter.”

His smiled faded. “Again.”

The doorknob clicked as he pulled the door shut, and the engine of his Maybach snarled, and then he drove away.

I went to my bedroom and peeled off my work uniform, exchanging the cargo pants for heather gray sweats, the button-down shirt and tactical vest for a green USMC sweatshirt, and my boots for sneakers.

Trex was in the lobby when I arrived, but talking to Darby, so I sat at the bar.

“I’m guessing a beer? Local?” the bartender said.

“Fat Tire. Bottle,” I said, watching Trex stand awkwardly in front of the blonde bombshell behind the front desk.

“You know Trex?” the bartender asked, popping the cap and setting the bottle on the bar in front of me. He was wearing a white shirt, black bowtie, and vest. Too fancy for a hotel lobby bar.

“Yeah,” I said, taking a swig.

“I’m Stavros. Welcome to the Colorado Springs Hotel Bar.”

“Naomi,” I said.

“You’re not his girlfriend, are you?”

“Colleague,” I said.

“I believe that,” he said, eyeing me as he went about tending the bar.

“Ho-lee shit,” Watts said, sitting next to me. “Zeke isn’t going to know what to do when he sees you here.”

“Why?” I snarled.

“Did you come to see him?”

“No,” I grumbled, taking a swig.

Watts winked and elbowed me. “I’d bet that you did.”