“Stay,” I say again. “You’re tired, and I think you’re a little drunk. I’d feel better if you stayed.” “I need my stuff. Henrik, I gotta change my clothes.” “I have everything you need here. Please. What’s mine is yours, you know that.” He should know it. He’s standing here now in my sweater and jeans, a spritz of my cologne at his neck. He groans, pressing his forehead to the door. “Will you stop being so damn polite? I know you want me out, okay?” Christ, is that what this is about? I drop my left hand down from the door and place it on his right shoulder. “Look at me, Teddy.” He lets
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