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Especially when one was the police officer I’d cursed out the previous night. Technically, Dante had done it, but I was just as guilty. And I felt it. Guilty. Me.

Colton, for his part, looked incredibly put together for a man who had essentially been roofied. He was in uniform—did the man ever take a day off?—his hair was appropriately mussed, his jaw clean-shaven. But his eyes were still bloodshot, his coloring pasty. A curse would do that to you.

“What the fuck, Hadley?”

I rubbed my eyes. I’d all but rolled out of bed, wearing nothing but men’s boxer shorts and a tank, sans bra. The cold wind rushing in the front door made my nipples pebble, likely straining through my shirt. Colton didn’t so much as glance downward. Either too much of a gentleman or too pissed off.

“Hello to you too.” I forced my tone to be sleepy, grumpy, even though I was worried Dante’s curse didn’t work, and Colton remembered everything. It would be just like Dante to fuck this up for me, if only for his own amusement.

But even Dante had a self-preservation instinct. We both needed Colton off our backs.

When Colton pushed through the doorway, I stumbled back, only letting him in because I was half asleep. It was only eight in the morning. I’d only gotten to sleep a few hours ago after dragging Colton’s prone body into his home, draining whiskey from his wet bar and staging the scene to look like he drank himself into a stupor. I’d been smart enough to add a second glass to the one I left in front of him because I knew Colton well enough he wouldn’t believe he drank himself unconscious.

He might not have known me, but he was obviously smart enough to deduce that I was the only one in town with whom he’d drink himself into oblivion.

I’d hoped he had some buddies who might be higher up on the list, but it seemed not. I wondered, not for the first time, about Colton’s current life. Was he still friends with everyone on the football team, spending their nights complaining about wives and revisiting their glory days? Or did he have some decent, reliable friends to spend time with? I guessed not since any decent friends would’ve stopped him from popping the question to Angela. He’d been married before, I remembered. What was that woman like? Questions bounced around my head that I had no business asking myself.

Colton stomped into the kitchen, me begrudgingly following him with a groan and a pounding headache.

When I got in there, Colton was at the coffee machine.

“You know how to use that?” I frowned at the shiny contraption which was the only thing that had intimidated me in recent memory.

“Of course, I know how to use it,” he snapped back as if I’d asked him if he knew how to use a toaster, not a fancy espresso machine. “Sit down.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m not apt to do what I’m told when someone barges into my house, officer,” I said sweetly.

Colton narrowed his gaze. “Your house now, is it, Haddie?” he asked quietly. “I thought you were just passing through.”

I drew in a deep breath, hating the way he caught everything I said, dissecting it as if it all meant something. “I am.”

“I’m gonna make coffee.” He was already getting out the beans. “You can sit or not. But you’re gonna drink a fucking coffee and tell me what the fuck happened last night and why I can’t remember a fucking thing.”

I sighed, knowing that Colton was a dog with a bone, and he obviously didn’t like being blackout drunk. What a bore.

“You can’t remember a thing because you can’t hold your liquor, Colton.” I perched on a barstool. I forced myself to sound laid-back, casual, not at all guilty. “You’re not the boy I remember who’d drink a cheap bottle of whiskey then still be able to drive us home.” My tone had a note of teasing to it.

Colton’s face remained stern, not even a tiny tremble to his lips. “No, Hadley, I’m not the boy you remember. I don’t drink and drive, and I don’t drink myself into oblivion either.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a bad influence.”

Silence descended as the sounds of Colton making coffee took over conversation. I happily watched his back move, grateful for the reprieve.

Colton set a steaming, black mug of coffee in front of me. I didn’t miss how familiar he was with this kitchen and the tightness in my chest at watching him move through the area as if no time had passed.

I grabbed the coffee, taking a long sip even though it was scalding-hot and burned my throat all the way down. Despite the pain it was fucking good.

“If this chief thing ever goes south, you could be a barista.” I held up my mug. “You’d need to grow a beard, add some tattoos or a man bun, though.”

Again, Colton didn’t smile, just went back to the machine, presumably to make his own cup. “Why were you at my place last night?” he demanded. “I thought you were trying to stay away from me and anyone who reminded you of who you used to be. Not to mention, the other night…”

His voice was sharp and plenty bitter.

I clutched my mug, the heat nearly searing my barely healed palms. I’d done my best to push the kiss—both kisses, with infinitely different men—from my brain. Now Colton was bringing it up, with shadows and fury in his eyes, laying it on the kitchen island in front of us, a writhing, ugly, complicated thing.

I took another sip. “I don’t know why I came over last night,” I said carefully. We’d already fucked with his doorbell camera, so it wouldn’t have any footage from last night. But I knew trying to be too specific in my lies might catch me up. We already had dispatch and the noise complaint to deal with. Although Dante had texted me—how in the fuck he had my number was a mystery—that he had it “handled.”

I didn’t like trusting someone else to cover my ass, but I didn’t have much choice. I kind of had my hands full.