The Theory of Deviance: Portland Rebels, Book 3

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  Almost.

  “Nice place,” Rafe murmured dryly.

  His response didn’t come as a surprise. The warehouse building by the harbor where Dean lived wasn’t exactly a five-star hotel. The first floor housed the burgeoning car refurbishment line of the auto-body business he ran with his father, and the rickety outdoor staircase that led to the second-floor apartment often had Mikey saying a prayer for his safety.

  “It’s much nicer on the inside,” he promised.

  “It looks awesome,” Krissy said. “And it’s only one floor up, which is better than we can say for our place.”

  There was that word—our again. Another spark of envy flared in Mikey’s gut, but it diminished when Krissy nudged her shoulder against his.

  “I like it.”

  They gathered their things and made their way up the stairs, the wind whipping around them as they climbed. Less than a minute outside and Krissy was stomping her feet and rubbing her hands together. Mikey worked the key into the lock and opened the steel door leading inside.

  “Here we are.” He flicked on the lights, and the wide industrial loft filled with a warm glow.

  “Are you shitting me?” Rafe asked. “This place is huge!” He dropped their bags to the floor and pulled off his coat. “Krissy, call Dean and Jamie. Tell him them they can stay in New York. I’m never going back.”

  Hah. Told you.

  “I’m glad you approve,” Mikey said.

  A minuscule turn of Rafe’s head was followed by a quick appraisal, Rafe’s gaze flicking from Mikey’s shoes to his face. “I do.”

  Hold up. Had he been the recipient of a covert once-over, or was it his imagination?

  Rafe grinned wide, adding, “Exposed brick walls, hardwoods, and floor-to-ceiling windows? It’s like a little piece of heaven.”

  Definitely his imagination. Rafe’s approval had been over the apartment, not Mikey. And the fact that that bothered him…bothered him.

  “Okay, kids,” Rafe said with a yawn. “I’m gonna give you some alone time and hit the shower. Wash off some of this travel grime.” He bent down to retrieve the smaller of the two bags and winked. “Bathroom?”

  Mikey pointed him in the right direction. When Rafe had closed the door behind him, Krissy reached for Mikey’s hand. She’d taken off her coat and tied her hair into a ponytail. Shorter strands fell around her face, framing full cheeks still tinged with pink from the cold. The long-sleeved, faded Mickey Mouse thermal she was wearing rode up slightly, giving him a glimpse of pale skin above her corduroys and brightly colored socks.

  “You want to watch a movie or something?” she asked.

  Relief fired through him. And a desire to touch her. “I’d love to.”

  He grabbed the remote and had just flicked on the TV when Krissy’s cell phone rang.

  “That’ll be my parents, checking that I’m alive.” She retrieved her phone from her pocket. “Gotta report in. Sorry.”

  “No problem. Go ahead and take it in the bedroom. I’ll find a movie.”

  She grinned and hopped down the hall on the balls of her feet, saying a singsong “Hi Mom” before the closed door muffled her words.

  Mikey flicked through the channels, stopping when he found Home Alone. Christmas might have been in their rearview mirror, but the holiday movies would be on until after New Year’s.

  He sat down on the futon that doubled as Dean’s couch and busied himself with rearranging the pillows. He’d assumed he’d be sleeping here, at least the first night. The apartment only had one bedroom, and even though Dean had granted Mikey permission to make use of his king-size bed so long as he triple-washed the linens and blanket after, Mikey hadn’t wanted to assume anything. At least not until he and Krissy got reacquainted.

  Of course, it had all seemed simpler when he thought Krissy’s roommate was female.

  The shower flicked on, and Mikey bristled at the mere fact of Rafe’s existence. He’d put so much stock into this week already, and the additional set of X-Y chromosomes currently hanging out in the bathroom was throwing another crapload of his insecurities into the mix. He had no clue what Krissy’s relationship with Rafe was, or if the guy was competition. And why had he wanted Rafe’s appreciation before? He was supposed to be jealous of him.

  A few moments later, Krissy bounded from the bedroom and landed on the couch next to him.

  “I love this movie!” she said, snuggling into his side.

  He put an arm tentatively around her, glancing down at her feet as she got more comfortable. Her socks had monkeys printed on them, and fondness for her made some of Mikey’s stress melt away. Krissy’s style of dress was a little out there, but her mismatched combinations were another thing he liked about her. She was just as much an odd duck as he was, and that was a kinship he’d never shared with anyone.

  The shower shut off after a while, followed by the bathroom door opening and the bedroom door closing. But Rafe didn’t come out to join them, and Mikey didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth wondering why. They’d barely gotten halfway through the movie when Krissy yawned—the hard, shuddery kind.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

  “Don’t be sorry. This is nice, cuddling with you.”

  She put her head on his shoulder. By the time Kevin had sent the bad guys packing, she’d fallen asleep in his arms. Mikey let himself doze, enjoying the feel of her beside him. Of how easy it was, the way they fit together.

  He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he heard Rafe whispering her name.

  “Kris, wake up,” he said softly.

  Mikey quirked one eye slightly open. Rafe was kneeling in front of them in sweats and a tank top, the muscles in his arms contoured by the low lamplight. It aggravated Mikey, seeing how much more attractive her roommate was with fewer clothes, as did Rafe’s casual use of a nickname for Krissy. She stirred, lifting a hand to rub her eyes like a child. Rafe held out a bottle of water to her, as well as a small white pill.

  A punch of unease landed in Mikey’s gut but he kept still, limbs straining to hold his pose as he covertly watched Krissy take the tablet and swallow it with a drowsy smile. Neither of them looked at him as she curled back into Mikey’s side. Rafe patted her thigh and left the room without another word.

  What the hell?

  Mikey had no idea what had just happened, but Krissy was already out cold again, so asking questions wasn’t an option. Whatever Rafe had handed her, it had to be something innocuous, otherwise she wouldn’t have taken it so easily, right?

  He looked down at her sleeping form, her long lashes brushing her cheeks.

  So much for the discussion on the sleeping arrangements.

  He didn’t want to take any liberties by sleeping with her uninvited, especially with her being so tired, but he figured her nuzzling up to him like this was a decent enough invitation.

  Gently untangling himself, he urged her down onto her side and made what was probably the world’s worst attempt to open a futon without waking someone. She somehow slept through it, and Mikey switched off the lights, eager to wrap himself around her.

  He pulled off her shoes, then stepped out of his own and climbed onto the mattress beside her. Pulling the blanket over them, he took off his glasses and placed them on the arm of the couch. The world got fuzzy, but Krissy was clear, and he moved in close to her, hoping things would make more sense in the morning.

  Chapter Two

  Bright sunlight pulled Krissy out of sleep. She forced her eyes open, but they were scratchy, her vision blurry. Awesome, she’d slept in her contacts again. And her clothes, apparently.

  Sitting up, she blinked a few times until the sticky cloudiness cleared, then took in her unfamiliar surroundings. Big, open living room, single-wall kitchen taking up the far corner. Wide windows with a
view of the ocean. Mikey asleep on the futon next to her.

  Right. She was in Maine, at Jamie and Dean’s apartment.

  The usual vague sense of unease took hold, and Krissy did a mental check, canvassing recent events like a computer virus scan. It was like this every morning now—her mind speeding through worries that she’d forgotten an important assignment or something bad had happened. But nothing had gone wrong in the last twenty-four hours. She was on vacation, away from the pressures of family and school, and here to see Mikey.

  Krissy glanced down at him, and the knot of anxiety in her chest loosened. He must’ve tucked her in last night, even though she had no memory of being covered by the blanket that was wrapped around her, or anything past about midway through the movie. She’d tried to stay awake for the end—she always liked the part when Kevin’s neighbor reunited with his granddaughter—but she must’ve needed to sleep. Still catching up on the last few days, she guessed.

  Had she taken her meds?

  Her lungs went tight on a sharp breath, but then she recalled Rafe coaxing her pill into her hands. Mikey had fallen asleep watching the movie too—she remembered that much at least—and hopefully hadn’t noticed.

  He might notice the sound of her alarm going off though.

  After slipping out from underneath the blanket, she scurried down the hall. The sound of her phone beeping got louder when she reached the bedroom. Rafe was an immobile form under the covers, barely visible except for the top of his head. She located her phone, plugged in and charging where it sat atop her bag. Rewetting solution and cleanser for her contacts were on the floor next to it.

  Trust Rafe to take care of things. He always did.

  She picked up her phone and swiped right to turn off the alarm. A reminder alert with a smiley face on it popped up.

  You haven’t logged your mood yet. How are you feeling right now?

  With a small sense of achievement, Krissy began the routine she’d become accustomed to. Opening the mood journal app, she chose “good” from the scale listed on the screen. There, easy-peasy. The trip hadn’t thrown her out of whack like her therapist had warned. Sure, she’d missed her yoga practice yesterday, but she’d caught up on her sleep last night and would do double with the stretches today.

  Trying not to disturb Rafe, she grabbed her toiletries and tiptoed toward the door. A rustling stopped her in her tracks.

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  Krissy froze, her hand on the knob. “Tell him what?”

  Even without looking, she could see Rafe rolling his eyes.

  “Kris…”

  She sighed. “I know. I will. Let me see how things go first.”

  He replied with a grunt before turning over. “Wake me when there’s coffee.”

  Krissy went into the bathroom, popped out her contacts, and rinsed them with solution. She couldn’t see what she was doing, but her glasses were in her bag, and she didn’t feel like going back into the bedroom to fish them out. After fumbling with putting the lenses back in, she brushed her teeth and hair, then padded out to the living room. Mikey sat up as soon as she came in.

  “Hey.” He reached for his glasses and slipped them onto his face. “I didn’t hear you get up.”

  Lord, he was adorable. Messy dark hair. Sideburns that made him look like a young Hugh Grant. Yeah, his glasses screamed Clark Kent, but she had the feeling it was Superman who lurked beneath the surface.

  “I’ve only been up a few minutes. Sorry I conked out last night.”

  She braced her palms on the back of the armchair and went up and down on her toes. The flex-and-point habit had become ingrained in her after years of ballet. She’d stopped training in high school, her time filled instead with voice lessons and drama club, but it had become her go-to practice when she was too antsy to keep still. Like now.

  “It’s okay. You’d had a long day,” he said. “You hungry?”

  Her stomach grumbled, or maybe it had been grumbling for a while and she hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t eaten since their stopover in Boston. Not a good thing, but an easy fix.

  “Starving.”

  “We could make pancakes. I bought some local maple syrup yesterday.”

  “That sounds awesome!”

  An over-the-top reaction, but Mikey didn’t blink, and something that had been wound too tight inside her slackened. This was what had attracted her to him when they met; he never looked at her strangely, never flinched at her occasionally strange behavior the way so many other people had.

  The way so many people who were supposed to love her still did.

  Mikey started to move, then stopped and balled a fist in the blanket over his lap. “I just need to…” His cheeks tinged with pink. “You get the coffee going, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  Krissy stood mutely for a second, then caught the placement of his hand.

  “Oh! Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll…be in here.”

  She walked toward the kitchen, peering over her shoulder as Mikey sped toward the bathroom. Was his hurry because he needed to pee, or was there something of the morning-wood variety that he had to take care of?

  If it was the latter, she would’ve liked to help him out with that.

  Snickering, she searched through the cabinets until she found a bag of Green Mountain coffee. The machine had gurgled its way through half a pot by the time Mikey joined her a few minutes later. They began the preparations, mixing ingredients until thick batter was sizzling on a pan.

  “What did you have in mind for today?” she asked.

  “I thought maybe a tour of Portland? We could drive around, then head to the Old Port for dinner.” He paused. “Will Rafe be joining us?”

  Mikey’s tone changed with the question, tension appearing in the little divot between his brows. The knot reformed in Krissy’s chest. She should’ve clued him in earlier about Rafe. She’d felt like an imposter, leaving out important details about her roommate every time she and Mikey chatted, but that was her life—a carefully constructed web of different lies to different people, keeping them safe from the truth she was sure no one would understand.

  “Probably. Assuming he doesn’t spend the day sending harassing emails to his agent.” She said it with humor, but Mikey didn’t laugh. “Is that all right?”

  “Yeah. Of course. Totally fine,” he said, nodding quickly. “You two are close?”

  Understatement of the year, but whatever. “He’s—” she searched for the right words, “—my best friend.”

  Mikey’s gaze remained fixed on the food. “Can I ask you…”

  Krissy held perfectly still, guarding herself against his impending question. Please don’t go there. Not about Rafe. Not yet. But all he did was shake his head and smile.

  “No, forget it. It’s none of my business.” He slid a spatula under each pancake and began piling them on a platter as he jutted his chin toward a cabinet. “Would you mind setting the table? Plates and cups are in there.”

  Gathering as much as she could, Krissy carried three settings to the table. By the time she’d folded the last napkin, Mikey was by her side with the platter of food. He placed it on the table and sat next to her.

  “You slept okay last night?” he asked. “It was all right on the futon?”

  “With you, you mean?” She grinned, and Mikey blushed again. “Yes, it was definitely okay. Was it okay with you?” She meant to let him answer, but the words kept coming, rushing out like a waterfall. “I’m really sorry I passed out on you. I can be dead to the world when I haven’t slept enough. This week was super busy, running out to my parents’ house for the holidays, then going back home and getting ready for this trip.”

  She was talking so fast she needed to catch her breath. Slow your roll, Krissy.

  “Is it a long ride?”

  “It’s not too bad. A quick subway tri
p into the city, and Metro North goes straight from there to Connecticut.” Krissy shrugged. “Just one of the hazards of being a B and T.”

  “B and T?”

  “A ‘bridge and tunnel’ person,” she explained. “It’s a nickname for people who live in the other boroughs and have to take a bridge or a tunnel to get anywhere. Commuting is a pain in the ass, but Queens is less expensive than Manhattan, so it’s worth it.”

  He nodded. It was funny, all the little things about their lives they hadn’t talked about before. Mundane details that suddenly filled an awkward silence she feared had been fueled by unanswered questions.

  They filled their plates with food, no sound between them except for the clinking of silverware against ceramic until Mikey finally asked, “You had a good Christmas?”

  Krissy hesitated before answering. Her parents were an interfaith couple. They didn’t belong to a church or a temple and had introduced Krissy and her sister, Kim, to the Old and New Testaments as children, bedtime stories that had been so interspersed with fairy tales Krissy couldn’t tell them apart anymore. But religion was important to Mikey—at least it seemed so, given the fact that he volunteered at his church—so she wanted to tread lightly.

  “We’re not religious, but my Dad’s side celebrates Christmas, so we spend it with them.” Krissy’s stomach growled, reminding her how hungry she was. She poured a generous serving of syrup onto her pancakes. “What about you?”

  “It was good. Had Christmas dinner with my extended family. Christmas Eve I was working though. Took the choir caroling.”

  She loved the image that popped into her head—Mikey surrounded by children in mittens and earmuffs, conducting them as they sang “Jingle Bells” on doorsteps.

  “Did you go from house to house?”

  “We made a stop at a park in the neighborhood, but the big performances were at the hospital and nursing home.”