How the Hitman Stole Christmas - Sam Mariano Page 0,86

money. There’s no reason for her to waste her limited funds on a hotel room when she can stay at my place for free.

Thinking about her financials reminds me that I still need to pay the asshole back for the gifts she bought on his credit card.

Once I’ve retrieved my duffel from my trunk, I head back inside the apartment.

Autumn is standing in my living room, browsing through the selection of books and movies I keep on the single bookshelf in my place.

She reacts like I caught her snooping when I come through the door, turning to look at me with big, guilty eyes.

“Do you know how much Brady’s credit card balance is? Or how much of it was you buying Christmas presents?”

Autumn shakes her head. “Not offhand, but I can check.”

“Do that when you get a chance,” I tell her.

Since she has nothing more pressing to do right now, she takes a seat on the edge of my couch and gets out her cell phone.

“Did you decide anything about dinner?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “I don’t even know what’s around here.”

“All right. I’ll take care of it.”

I think about taking her out since this is her last night in Chicago. I’m not really in the mood to go out though, and I don’t think she is, either.

It’s a shame I didn’t get to show her even a sliver of my city, but maybe it’s better that way. It’ll be easier for her to put me behind her and move on if I haven’t marked up every corner of her life. Stillwater’s ruined for her, she’ll never be able to go there without thinking about me, but Chicago doesn’t have to be.

Maybe someday she’ll meet a man who’s better for her, and they’ll end up visiting Chicago. She should be free to explore and make new memories with that motherfucker, not distracted by memories of me hauling her around the city.

It wouldn’t be the same as taking her around Stillwater, anyway. Crazy as it was, she believed in me then. She doesn’t anymore.

I end up ordering take-out to be delivered. It’s just easier that way.

We eat in relative silence. I break out a bottle of rum and mix a rum and Coke for both of us, just to take the edge off.

Alcohol loosens her up a little. We both stop at one, though. Neither one of us needs to have our inhibitions down tonight. I don’t trust myself with her when too much alcohol is involved, and after the night we went out in Stillwater, I think it’s probably the same for her. If we overindulge in alcohol, we’ll overindulge in other things, and that’s a mess we don’t need.

Shortly after dinner and drinks, Autumn goes in to take a shower. I need something to do to distract myself from the knowledge that she’s naked in my apartment with only a cheap-ass door standing between us, so I grab my duffel bag and haul it into the bedroom. I’ll need to unload this one, wash all the clothes and repack it so it’s ready for me next time I need it.

I frown, momentarily confused, when I pull out a little red pickup truck from my bag. I completely forgot I threw this in here last night when I was drunk off my ass.

I set it aside and unpack the rest of my things. Once the bag is empty of everything that needs cleaning, I throw it in my closet and haul the clothes to my washer.

I don’t start a load yet, just in case Autumn wants to add anything to it. Instead I take the model truck and head back to the living room where Autumn left her suitcase. I unzip it with the intention of hiding it under her clothes, somewhere she won’t notice it until she’s back in New York.

As soon as I open her suitcase, though, my nostrils are assaulted by the sweet scent of Autumn. It lingers on her clothes. Before I can think better of it, I grab the bunched up green T-shirt on top and bury my face in it. I inhale her scent—it’s there in the shirt. I pull it away and look down at it, my grip on the fabric easing.

This is the T-shirt I grabbed for her at the travel plaza down the road from our motel. I bought her a Green Bay Packers T-shirt—not because I assumed she was a fan, just because it was what they had