She dropped her purse onto the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Small bar fight.”
Easton’s jaw slackened. “Really? Are you okay?”
She set her fingers to her cheekbone. Yeah, a little tender. “I’m fine. But Elliott felt bad that I got hit.”
“You got hit?” Easton jumped to his feet and rushed at her. He cupped her chin and turned her face. “Jesus, Amber. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” His concern for her warmed her insides. “Thanks.”
Easton grimaced. “You can’t have a bruised face.”
She shrugged. “Makeup can hide a lot.”
Easton cursed under his breath.
“So can Photoshop,” she added with a smile.
“I’m not just worried about how you look.” He frowned. “You seem upset.”
She sighed. “It’s nothing.”
Easton cast a regretful look at the guy on the couch. “I should introduce you. Amber, this is Jamie. Jamie, my roommate, Amber.”
Amber smiled at the guy, who politely rose and extended a hand. She took the two steps to meet him and shook his hand. Holy crap, where had Easton found this guy? He was gorgeous—tall, wide-shouldered, and lean, dark hair falling over his forehead. He flashed her a dazzling smile.
“Hi. Nice to meet you, Jamie.”
She didn’t really need to wonder where Easton had found him. As a sought-after commercial photographer in Chicago, Easton often worked with top models in the city. No doubt Jamie was one of those.
“You too. Maybe I should go.”
“No, no! I’m heading to bed. It was a crazy night. You two kids carry on.”
Easton rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. “Sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. We can talk tomorrow.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek and he gave her arm a squeeze.
—
In the morning when Amber got up, Easton’s bedroom door was closed and there was an unfamiliar pair of boots at the front door. Oooookay. Jamie had apparently stayed overnight.
It wasn’t like it was the first time this had ever happened. She and Easton had been living together for nearly four years. She knew him from Los Angeles, where they’d worked together on photo shoots and become friends. Or maybe he was more like a big brother, guiding her through the business. When she’d moved to Chicago for college, he’d already been living there and offered her a place to live, which was excellent because she sure couldn’t afford much on her own. Then he’d encouraged her to continue to model while she went to school, and had found her some jobs. It was a relatively lucrative part-time job, although the tips at the Sin Bin were definitely competitive.
She collected some laundry and carried it down the hall to throw a load into the washing machine in the tiny laundry room on their floor, then returned to the apartment. The Sin Bin didn’t open until eleven, so she got to work on her thesis project, but when she took a break later to call, nobody who was working knew how to get hold of Duncan. Elliott wasn’t there yet, so Amber left a message for him to call her when he got in.
Easton and Jamie emerged from the bedroom a while later and she took another short break to have a cup of coffee with them. Jamie seemed like a sweet guy, and she liked the way he kept looking at Easton all admiring and…smitten. Then they left so Easton could take Jamie home, and she got back to work.
When Elliott finally called, the ringtone of her cellphone startled her out of her concentration.
“Hey,” she said. “Thanks for calling back.”
“You’re not quitting, are you?”
She blinked. “Uh. No.”
“Whew. Was afraid maybe last night was too much for you and you didn’t want to work at the Sin Bin anymore.”
“Actually, I was kind of afraid I was going to get fired for starting a big fight.”
“You didn’t start it. And I want you to know we don’t let customers harass our waitstaff.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Soft warmth filled her chest. Maybe she’d lucked into a good part-time job this time.
“Are you okay? You took a shot to the face last night.”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t even have a bruise, though it could still bloom later. “It really wasn’t a hard hit, just surprised me.”
“So what can I do for you? Schedule change?”
“No, actually I’m calling because I have Duncan’s car keys.”
“Duncan? Duncan Armstrong?”
“I guess that’s his name.”
“The one who came to your rescue.”
She heard the amusement in Elliott’s tone. “Yeah, him. I took his keys when it was obvious he was on a bender. Then I left without thinking to return them. Somehow I need to get them back to him. Do you happen to have a phone number or address for him?”
Silence. Elliott finally said, “I could get it, but it’s probably better if I get hold of him myself and let him call you.”
“I’m not a stalker,” she said, offended.