I said to Mark on my way to the front door, a piece of sourdough toast clenched between my teeth. Out of bread, I’d come over to borrow some of his—and his toaster, some butter, oh, and his kitchen, too.“Hold it.” He regarded me from the living room sofa over the leading edge of the morning paper, looking a bit green around the gills. “We polish off a six-pack and untold tequila shots last night and Mr. Unemployed’s out the door at seven a.m. What gives?”You’d be fine, too, if you had my incubus constitution. Booze was beginning to have very little effect on me anymore. “Got some errands to run.”Tossing the newspaper onto the seat cushion next to him, Mark folded arms across the chest of his favorite Bruins T-shirt and leveled a suspicious gaze at me. “Like snooping at the moving vans next door?” I took the piece of toast out of my mouth. The mystery guy in the clearing last night was our new neighbor? “Don’t take this the wrong way, but please do us all a favor and don’t get too friendly.”That same, almost electric, prickling from last night skittered across the surface of my skin.
