Nash turned the key in the door and carefully edged it open. He heard the TV going, but that didn’t necessarily rule out the possibility he’d be interrupting something he didn’t want to see.
“It’s safe,” Harley called.
Nash pushed open the door the rest of the way and entered the apartment.
Harley and Oliver looked innocent enough lounging on the couch with their feet on the coffee table, but eau de “Mediterranean Lavender” still lingered. He could hear the washing machine churning away down the hallway, which added a hint of bleach to the atmosphere.
“Towel load?” he asked, since they didn’t actually own a tarp.
Oliver’s face turned a becoming rosy shade, and Harley snickered. “Shut up. Sit down and tell us about the date.”
“There won’t be a second one. ’Nuff said.”
Harley dropped
