Infinite Risk by Ann Aguirre Page A

luck was on my side, and the front desk clerk was in the toilet or something, so I didn’t have to face his leers or gross remarks when I went up to my room. Kian was trying not to look horrified, I could tell, but he kept glancing over his shoulder like something terrible was chasing us.
    I unlocked the door and gestured. “Home, sweet home.”
    Through his eyes, this must be one of the lower levels of hell, though I’d gotten used to the awfulness of it. I showered on a towel, not wanting to put my bare feet in the tub, and the only good thing that could be said about the sheets was there were no bedbugs, though they certainly didn’t believe in discarding stained linens here. I went inside first, seeing his hesitation.
    â€œIf you’re uncomfortable, you can call for a ride,” I said.
    â€œNo, sorry. I was just wondering if this would be okay. I mean, there’s no privacy.”
    I smirked. “If you were expecting your own room, I have to disappoint you. But the radiator works pretty well. Usually.”
    â€œIt’s fine,” he said.
    Shrugging out of my damp jacket, I tinkered with said radiator until a blast of hot air caught me in the face. Then I hung up my coat by the door and stripped out of my shoes and socks, arraying them by the heater to dry. My hoodie was damp too, so I hung that up as well. Kian just watched me, mouth half open.
    â€œYou should dry your stuff too. Otherwise it’ll be awful in the morning.”
    â€œRight.” He followed my lead until he was barefoot.
    The plain gray T-shirt he had on was better than the polyester stuff he usually wore, and it made me think I was influencing him subconsciously. When you liked someone, you wanted to fit in with them better. A good sign, I thought.
    â€œAre you hungry? I have ramen.”
    By the way his eyes lit up, you’d think I had offered filet mignon. “That would be great.”
    So I boiled the water in my kettle and filled the cups to the line. We waited three minutes, then added the season packets. I’d done this a lot alone since my kitchenette didn’t lend itself to fancy cooking, nor did my budget, but it was a little better with Kian perched on the other side of the bed mixing his noodles with complete concentration.
    We slurped them down in unison, and he looked into his cup, wistful, when they were gone. Thanks to the Harbinger, I couldn’t offer seconds, but … “Want something to drink? I have apples and yogurt too.”
    â€œI can’t eat all your food.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I can buy more.”
    â€œIf you’re sure.”
    By recent standards, we had a feast. I made cups of hot tea, lightly laced with milk, and we had those, along with the apples and yogurt. If we ate the granola too, that would be pretty much it, except for the makings of a few PB&Js. That’ll be breakfast.
    â€œBetter?” I asked.
    â€œMuch.”
    The black tea perked me up considerably in conjunction with the bad coffee, so I wasn’t remotely tired. Plus, it wasn’t even nine. Without asking his opinion, I switched on the TV. “Don’t expect much, I only get four channels.”
    On one of them, an old movie was about to start, one I’d never heard of called The African Queen . The picture was shitty, but Kian seemed excited. “You’ll love this.”
    I almost said, Will I? like a smart-ass and then recalled that I was supposed to be a classic-film buff. “I’ve wanted to catch it; this must be my lucky night.”
    For some reason, that pulled his attention from the screen and he flushed. “I think that’s my line.”
    â€œReally? You wanted to be snowed in at the Baltimore with ramen for dinner?”
    â€œRemember what I said before—you, me, adventure? Still applies.” With the sweetest, easiest smile I’d seen from him, he bumped his shoulder lightly against mine.
    â€œThen let’s