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When I came out, hair dried, the bed had been made with two pillows.

"I'm coming back." Elliot stepped in from the balcony. "I'm basically done with the busy stretch."

I didn't answer. I climbed in and pulled the covers up.

The light went out.

The sheets shifted in the dark. The cold air followed him in, along with something familiar.

His arm found my waist. Heavy.

"Hey." He pushed himself up, voice low. "Who'd you have dinner with tonight?"

I kept my eyes shut.

Then something slipped under my pajamas. I grabbed it immediately.

Elliot stared at me.

"You're pretending to sleep."

I didn't look away. "Who I have dinner with is my own business. You don't have to call through my contacts like that. Isn't it embarrassing?"

He looked wounded. Slowly, he dropped his head, his face disappearing into the dark.

"I didn't call through your contacts. I called one coworker to ask if you'd been at the university. And one other person—"

My chest went cold.

"I called Dominic Kingsley."

In the thick dark, Elliot's voice cut like glass, slicing through every blurred edge.

"Did he tell you? Or—" The hand on my wrist tightened through the thin fabric. "Were you right there next to him when I called? Why didn't you say anything?" His voice dropped lower. "Were you coaching him? He was very convincing."