I stormed into the room and damn near jumped out my skin. “Qu…Quasim, how the fuck?” He looked up from whatever he was knitting. Yes. Quasim Inferno was laying in my bed, no shirt on, feet crossed at the ankles, bopping his head to the music playing, watching a documentary on a cable channel that I didn’t have while knitting. “Heard you made it home… everything good at that restaurant?” I watched as he turned the channel to the news, and they were all outside the restaurant reporting on what happened tonight. His phone rang and he answered it, putting it to his ear. “Yeah, she home… appreciate
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