I considered sleeping on the floor but I was too tired and anyway, Lee was busy these days and never in Denver unless it was someone’s birthday, a holiday or a weekend the Broncos were playing at home. I’d heard Kitty Sue lamenting that fact so often, if I had a dime for every time she said it, I’d be rich.

I’d taken off my jeans, boots, socks, and bra and found a wife beater t-shirt of Lee’s, luckily in the first drawer I opened. I didn’t want to be rifling through Lee’s drawers, he might not like it.

I had to borrow Lee’s tee because I was wearing my Guns ‘n’ Roses shirt that had rhinestones stitched in and they would snag at the sheets, not to mention it was one of my favorites and I didn’t want it to get misshapen while I slept.

I was not a light sleeper, I slept deep and I moved around a lot, as in a lot. I moved around so much that most of my boyfriends eventually opted for the couch (usually right before they opted for the door). I tried to sleep in attire that would not get me into trouble during my nocturnal twisting and turning, which usually meant I slept in underpants and nothing else. However, the thought of sleeping in Lee’s bed nearly na**d was simply not to be entertained.

I tried not to think of crawling into Lee’s bed at all. It was just a bed. So it was Liam Nightingale’s bed. So it kinda smelled like him, like leather and tobacco and spice. So what?

The smell and the bed made me feel a little bit like I felt when I touched Joe Perry’s chest and I had this niggling inclination to do a little naughty activity but, thankfully, I fell asleep before I could do anything about it.

The next thing I knew, something was wrapped around my ankle and dragging me down the length of the bed, just like the heroine in a horror movie

When my knees slammed into the footboard, I whipped around to my back and gave a small yelp. I saw a big shadow looming over me in the dark and I opened my mouth to scream, knowing that whoever had shot at us had found us and this was the end.

My life was over, finished, and I’d never seen Pearl Jam play live.

Before I could scream, the hand left my ankle, two hands grabbed at my h*ps and yanked me out of bed in a way that my back arched painfully. My head snapped back and I swallowed my scream on a surprised gulp.

I was set down on my feet, both of my wrists were seized and pulled behind my back, making me give a whimper of pain and I was slammed against a hard body.

“Talk,” a deep voice demanded and I could smell tobacco, leather and spice.

It was Lee.

Shit, shit, shit.

Either I had really bad luck or Ally set me up.

Maybe Ally and Rosie set me up. Ally was really into the sister-in-law shit and maybe she was getting impatient enough to hire someone to shoot at me.

“Two seconds,” Lee warned.

“Lee, it’s me. Indy.”

The hands on my wrists loosened but didn’t let go.

“What the f**k?”

I took in a deep breath which pressed my br**sts further into his chest.

This was the closest I’d ever been to him, we were full-frontal. Even in the days when I was throwing myself at him, I hadn’t made it this close.

I explained (hastily), “I’m in a bit of a bind and needed someplace safe to stay for a night. Ally let me in.”

Lee took a moment to let this sink in.

“Who’s the guy on the couch?”

“Rosie, my barista.”

“Your what?”

“He makes the coffee at my bookstore.”

“Shit.”

He hadn’t let me go until that point, but he released me, turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

Something about the way he did it made me follow him.

When I made it to the living room, Lee snapped on a light and Rosie was lying face down in the middle of the floor. His hands and feet were taped together behind his back with duct tape and there was tape on his mouth.

“Lee! Jesus! What’d you do to him?” I asked, running forward and going down on my knees by Rosie. Rosie eyes were rabid and shifting everywhere as he struggled against the tape.

I couldn’t believe it, I hadn’t heard a thing.

Man, Lee was good.

Lee already had his pocket knife out and was cutting through the tape.

“I came home and he was on my couch, you were in my bed. What’d you think I’d do?” Lee answered as he ripped the tape off Rosie’s mouth.

“Yeow!” Rosie cried.

I sat back, resting my behind on my calves and stared at Lee.

This was exactly what I thought he’d do.

“Ally didn’t call you.”

“No, Ally didn’t call me.”

“I’m gonna kill her.”

“Jesus, f**k, shit,” Rosie said.

Lee had gone down to a crouch when he’d released Rosie and now he stood, arms crossed on his chest.

“You okay?” I asked Rosie and Rosie gave me an “are you nuts, that lunatic just tied me up with duct tape” look.

You would think you couldn’t read all that in a look, but trust me, you could.

“What’s goin’ on?” Lee said, surveying us.

It was then I realized I was in a pair of peach, lace, hipster briefs that showed a good deal of cheek and Lee’s wife beater. Not exactly the attire I wanted to be wearing during this conversation.

Not exactly the attire I wanted to be wearing ever in the presence of Lee.

“I’ll go get dressed,” I said, standing.

Lee shook his head.

“You’ll talk.”

“I need to put on some clothes!”

“What you need to do is tell me what the f**k’s goin’ on,” Lee countered and, let’s just say, his tone brooked no argument and his face registered pretty severe unhappiness.

Regardless, I glared at him, just for good measure.

“Jesus, shit, f**k,” Rosie said, tearing the remnants of tape from his wrists.

I took another deep breath and let go of the glare. It was time to expedite this situation so I could get to my Levi’s. Generally, I felt na**d without my jeans but at that moment I practically was na**d without my jeans.

“Okay, we have a situation here. Rosie and I need somewhere to crash for the night and we’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“Why?” Lee asked.

“Don’t tell him!” Rosie cried, looking panicked.

“You talk or you walk,” Lee said.

I looked at Lee then I looked at Rosie.

I’d known Rosie for five years, he’d come to parties at my house. We’d gone to concerts together. He was a cool guy, a bit flighty and secretive and not as mellow as one would expect, considering he was a screaming stoner.