My head is a little fuzzy on the details, but I don’t hesitate telling her what I do remember: stumbling into O’Leary’s around midnight with a group of randos I befriended at some bar a couple towns over. Grabbing a bottle of Hennessy and taking one of the girls upstairs. Snorting a line off my nightstand...

Okay, so I might skim over what happened after.

“I hope you wrapped it up.” Ivy passes me the J.

Sucking in, I say tightly, “I always do.”

If it weren’t for the lamp casting light from the window and the red spark of the paper getting passed between us, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the pinched look on her face—or the stiff way in which she stands there.

“Got something to say?”

I know she hears the edge underlying my voice, but in typical Ivy-fashion, rather than spit it out, she meanders over to the railing, climbs onto the bottom rung, and leans all the way over. Folding herself in half, with her long black hair falling forward like a waterfall as she hangs there, practically upside down. Hands swinging, her life relies solely on the cheap-ass metal that has seen better years.

With the joint softly held between my lips, I watch her face through the bars. I think she’s smiling, but it looks more like a frown.

“One of these days, this railing’s gonna give out when you do that,” I mumble through my lips. Smoke curls its way out and into the thin darkness.

“Oh, the horror,” she whispers dramatically, eyes wide and frown—er, smile—as big as ever. She looks haunting in a grotesque manner, all black hair and pale, pale skin. If I was an artist, I’d paint her just like this—folded in half and swinging lifelessly. But I think I’d keep her face in its anatomically correct position.

Jesus fuck.

“Dude.” She laughs before setting herself upright. Balancing on her toes, she raises her arms heavenward and howls. Our grumpy orange alley cat hisses from somewhere below.

“You’re insane.” Walking over, I rest my arms on the railing, checking the sturdiness and preparing myself for a quick grab and dive. The thought of Ivy going splat is not a pretty picture. I can handle a lot. But losing her? Yeah, no thanks. I might as well just jump off after her, head first, if that’s the case.

“And yet you adore me,” she says, looking down at me from her perch and batting her thick lashes.