JESSE

Lance was still woozy, shaking off the last of the sleep aid. The pot of tea Vivian had brewed for him sat

forgotten on the coffee table, half-empty.

“She could have killed me,” Lance grumbled. “What if I overdosed?”

I glanced toward the kitchen, noting the scrap piece of paper hastily shoved beneath the toaster. It was covered in numbers and equations. She’d done the math, I realized, because, of course, she did. Vivian was too smart to just dump a bunch of medication into a man’s tea. She took the time to figure out the proper dosage, accounting for every milligram of diphenhydramine.

If I weren’t so worried...