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worn-down stubs of pencils, and the reams of adding machine tape. “If you’re breathing, you have stress. You drink yourself blind, the stress is right there when your vision clears up.”
    “Look, maybe I’ve got a little problem. I’m going to deal with it. I just need to take a little time, give my system a rest. I—” He pressed his fingers to his eyes, swayed.
    “You’ve got a big problem, and you can deal with it.” She crossed to him, took his wrists and tugged his hands down so he would look at her. “You need a day, because it’s only today that has to count.”
    “So far today sucks.”
    She smiled, rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. “It’s probably going to get worse. Sit down. I’ll doctor those knuckles, tough guy.”
    “Thanks.” Then he sighed, said it again. “Thanks, Annie.”
    He kissed her cheek in turn, then rested his head against hers just for the comfort of it. She still held his wrists, lightly, and her fingers felt so competent, so strong, her hair smelled so fresh and simple. He pressed his lips to it, then to her temple.
    Then somehow his mouth was on hers, and the taste of her was flooding his ragged system like sunlight. When her fingers flexed in his, he released them, but only to frame her face with his hands, to draw her into him, hold her there while the sheer warmth of her soothed like balm on a wound.
    So many contrasts, was all he could think. The tough little body, the soft sweep of hair, the clipped voice and generous mouth.
    The strength and the softness of her, so endearing, so familiar. And so necessary to him.
    She’d always been there. He’d always known she’d be there.
    It wasn’t easy to break free. Not from his hold—she could have easily stepped away. His hands were gentle as bird wings on her face. The mouth both needy and tender.
    She’d wondered, had let herself wonder once, if it would be the same. The feel of him, the taste. But that was long ago, before she’d convinced herself that friendship was enough. Now it wasn’t easy to break free of what that one long quiet kiss stirred, what it asked, what it took out of her.
    She needed all of her strength of will to step back from the slowly kindling need he’d brought back to life. A need, she told herself, that wouldn’t help either of them.
    He nearly pulled her back, was already reaching out blindly when she held up her hands, palms out, in warning. He jerked back as if he’d been slapped a second time.
    “Oh Christ. I’m sorry. Annie, I’m sorry.” What had he done? How could he have ruined the single friendship he didn’t think he could live without? “I didn’t mean to do that. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”
    She let him wind down, let the miserable guilt settle on his face. “I bounced a two-hundred-pound man out of my bar last night because he thought he could buy me along with a beer and a bump.” She clamped her hand around Andrew’s left thumb and gave it a quick twist. His eyes widened, his breath hissed as she held it. “I could have you on your knees, pal, whimpering if I gave this one little digit a good yank back. We’re not seventeen anymore, not quite so stupid and a hell of a lot less innocent. If I hadn’t wanted your hands on me, you’d have been flat on your back, checking out the cracks in my ceiling plaster.”
    Sweat began to pearl on his forehead. “Ah, could you let go?”
    “Sure.” Obligingly, she released his thumb, and kept her eyebrows arrogantly cocked. “Want a Coke? You look a little sweaty.” She turned and stepped to the refrigerator.
    “I don’t want to ruin things,” he began.
    “Ruin what?”
    “Us. You matter, Annie. You’ve always mattered.”
    She stared blindly into the refrigerator. “You’ve always mattered too. I’ll let you know when you ruin things.”
    “I want to talk about . . . before.”
    He waited while she popped the tops on two bottles. Grace in economy of motion, he thought, a steel spine in a well-toned body. Had he noticed those things before? Noticed the little flecks of gold in her eyes? Or had he just stored them up so they’d all come to him in a flood in a moment just like this?
    “Why?”
    “Maybe to face things—something I didn’t realize until lately was stuck inside me.” He flexed his fingers, felt the ache. “I’m not in the best shape right now, but I have to start somewhere. Sometime.”
    She set the bottles on the counter, forced herself to turn, to meet his eyes.