Honestly, I despaired of the two of us ever truly letting our guard down. History on that count did not make one optimistic.
For now, though, things were light, simple and superficial, as far as I was able to tell. Faith's typical smirkingly brash attitude was set firmly in place, and I was responding mostly in kind.
The room service waiter, trundling in the heavy-laden cart, seemed entirely nonplussed by the sight of Faith's loosely-belted robe and the fact that I was wearing only my jeans. Tipped well, he smiled as he left, and by the time I turned around, Faith had already tucked into the pizza she'd ordered.
Crossing to the bar, I brought two bottles of beer back to the table, setting one in front of Faith. I sat down, and took a deep breath, wondering if it might be an opportune moment to say something.
I was interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing. Mumbling an apology, I fished it out of my jacket nearby and flipped it open. Angel. My friend and former employer spoke quickly and brusquely, but considering the news, I couldn't blame him. Thanking Angel for the advanced notice, I closed the phone and turned to Faith.
"We've got one hour to finish eating, get packed and be gone. Angel's contacts with the L.A.P.D. alerted him that they've recently shared your record with the Las Vegas police. They'll be here soon, but we've got enough of a head start."
Moving on instinct, I stepped closer to Faith and closed my hand over hers.
"They won't catch us. I promise."
((Open to Faith.))