Chapter 2
Inside Ian’s hotel room, a single lamp shone beside the bed, its maroon lampshade casting a dull red glow that made Corey feel safe. Here it wasn’t as cold as his own room. Ian’s bags sprawled open on the floor, bottles of cologne and shampoo and deodorant cluttered the top of the dresser, and clothes littered the wingback chair by the window. It smelled warm here, masculine, no traces of the faint floral perfume that choked him in his own room. He thought maybe he could crawl beneath the sheets of Ian’s bed and fall asleep without worrying who he needed to be to the person beside him.
Pointing at the bed, Ian said, “Help yourself.”
Corey looked at him, wondering if it were just the alcohol that added the hint of sadness he heard in his friend’s voice, but Ian didn’t meet his
