of Rufus boarding a car, and Sam sprinted after him, turning sideways to squeeze between the closing doors.
Then they were crammed together. Sardines in a can. Maybe fish in a barrel. The stink of unwashed bodies, of sweat, of spoiled food. And no empty space, no air. Rufus’s body was pressed up against Sam’s, Sam’s sweat-covered back plastered to the door. This close, Sam could feel the wiry muscle running through the redhead, could smell Dial soap and, now, his hair, the wool of his beanie—what a ridiculous piece of fuckery in July—something else, too, something he thought of as just Rufus.
Rufus’s thigh was between Sam’s legs.
Rufus kept shifting.
There wasn’t enough air in the car. There wasn’t enough space.
Sam must have made some kind of noise, because Rufus glanced at him. “How you doing? Downtown train at the start of rush hour and all.”
“Fine,” Sam growled.
The redheaded asshole just kept shifting his weight, his thigh bumping into Sam every damn time.
Sam tried to lean away. He tried to pull back. He tried not to think about the fact that Rufus was actually kind of funny, actually kind of cute, surprisingly sensitive under the veneer, if his reactions were any gauge, and maybe even smart and tough, although some of that remained to be decided. Sam tried really, really hard not to think about freckles, how far they might go down the redhead. Tried not to think about all the jokes that had seemed safe and contained inside the controlled environment of the diner.
Rufus twisted around, his mouth almost at Sam’s ear, and said, “We need to get off.”
Sam might have groaned. He hoped that the shriek of brakes engaging drowned out the noise, but judging by the way those green eyes widened in amusement, he didn’t think so.
Then the doors opened and they spilled out of the car, Rufus catching Sam’s shirt—the inside-out tee almost translucent where the white had soaked up sweat—to steady him. A few more minutes, and they were out of the hellhole, emerging into a city that seemed, in comparison, clean and cool and open. Sam hated the city, but he thought he might fucking die if he had go in the subway again.
Rufus led them onto a smaller street. Brownstones ran along both sides, many of them choked by ivy. The trees here were tall, green, shady. After ten steps, Sam wiped his face, dried his hands on his jeans, and felt a little more centered. When Rufus looked at him, though, he just shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it; he definitely didn’t want to give the redhead any more of an edge.
“Are we close?” Sam asked.
“We have to walk to Fourteenth and catch the L into Brooklyn. It’s a hell of a trek.”
Sam stopped walking. “More trains?”
Rufus paused midstep, looked over his shoulder again, and gave a ridiculous grin. “No. I’m kidding. We’re almost there. Near the end of this block.”
“Oh,” Sam said, hearing the lameness of the response. And then, even worse, but he couldn’t seem to stop it: “Good.” And he didn’t know why he liked that Rufus held that ridiculous grin for another moment before going on.
Rufus stopped at one of the brownstones, distinguishable from the others only by the blue trim on the windows and a flowerbox that had been neglected for a long time.
“She owns this thing?” Sam said. “Christ, is she an heiress or something?”
Rufus removed his sunglasses, hung them from the collar of his T-shirt, and hummed in response. “She owns some startup company. A millennial whose success hinged on mommy and daddy’s bank account.”
“A millennial,” Sam repeated. “Fucking perfect. And you think she’ll be home? What are the odds she’s going to smile at her boyfriend’s old fuck buddy, hand over her phone, and tell us to have fun and be safe?”
Rufus glanced up at Sam. “Aren’t you all sunshine and puppies.”
“How good are you at—” Sam tried to find the right word, the one that would get Rufus’s hackles up and, hopefully, put his ego on the line. “—snooping?”
“I was eating fucking chips when you fumbled your way into Jake’s place. How good do you think I am?” Rufus asked, not breaking his eye contact.
“Slightly below average,” Sam said with a shrug. “You left crumbs everywhere.”
“Are you baiting me?”
“You’re cute when you get all suspicious and paranoid. All right. Let’s try this. I’ll talk to her. You find a way to get out of the conversation and look around.” Sam pursed