The cup clattered in the sink. I faced the wall. Away from his eyes on me. What was wrong with me? He was being perfectly nice, and I couldn’t even manage a decent conversation.
“I’m sorry for not calling you.” Hunter’s voice was softer than a cat’s purr.
I shut the water off with a slap. “You haven’t called me in months.” I turned, gripping the counter behind me. “Why should you?” I sounded bitter. Lonely. Pathetic. But at least I was facing him now. “Pizza’s fine.” I skirted past him. “I just got home from work. I’m going to shower.” I raced to the only place I could be alone. This was going to be a long few days.
Chapter Three
Hunter on avoiding awkward conversations by looking at haunted hotels
Ididn’t move until I heard the shower running in the tiny bathroom. Regge had called me HB. It was unique to him, a private joke between us.
Once, after a few drinks, he’d told me HB stood for hot blond. But that was another time.
I sighed as I lounged on the futon, gazing around at the bits and pieces of Regge’s home. It was simple—only the futon and one chair, a rickety coffee table. The ratty bookshelf Izzy gave him for his growing book collection sat along the far wall and I rose to inspect it.
The shelf had been repainted a brilliant blue. On the top were a couple of framed charcoal sketches. One was of Archie in both his forms, the cat in the foreground and crow behind it. It was beautifully detailed, with individual whiskers and feathers respectively, but also perfectly capturing Archie’s personality.
A standing lamp hovered next to the bookshelf. I returned his chair to its spot under the lamp. Under the window, a small end table held a large cushion and a sleeping Archie.
“Hey boy, how’s things?” I scratched the cat gently behind his ears. He blinked, leaned into my touch for half a second, and then went back to sleep. “Okay then.”
The studio apartment was spacious enough to fold out the futon, and the kitchen was neat and tidy with open overhead shelves holding a few dishes. A bowl of two overripe bananas sat on the small counter.
The shower stopped running, and I got to work unboxing the bed and plugging it in. Surprised by the rapidly unfolding inflatable, I was shoving the futon and coffee table aside when Regge appeared. I stared. Couldn’t help it.
Breathtakingly sculpted, a towel wrapped around his waist, a partially naked Regge was a sight to behold.
Water darkened his wheat-colored hair to a light brown. He’d let it grow out to flop over his forehead and curl slightly around his ears. The navy-blue towel was almost thick enough to hide the bulge at his crotch. Almost. I tracked a drop of water as it glistened and edged its way down over a smooth and perfect pectoral.
My palms hurt suddenly from the press of my nails. Truly unable to keep my eyes from him, my gaze followed the lines of defined muscle across a broad chest, down his abdomen where a trail of light brown hair lined up below his belly button and disappeared into—
“Hunter?”
Fortunately, he was looking at the blown-up bed tilted on the floor between us, the whine of the air compressor still going. I shut it off. When the intercom buzzed, I thanked my silent stars and jumped to answer it.
“That’s the pizza.”
I busied myself paying the kid and getting the still warm pie to the counter as Regge dressed quickly behind the open door of the wardrobe. He emerged, yanking a worn T-shirt over his head. He avoided looking at me. Something I was grateful for as it allowed me to breathe.
Shifting the now inflated bed to lean against the longest wall, I silently chided myself. What had I been thinking? Inviting myself to stay here. I’d forgotten how truly small the studio was. My basement apartment wasn’t much larger, but it had a separate bedroom and an actual kitchen.
The folks living in the hotel didn’t have funds for a fancier place, and being not quite human, they preferred to stay with others like them. I’d thought rooming with Regge would be easier on him than moving a stranger in. We’d lived together before, so it shouldn’t be a problem, right?
Except for the bathroom, there was no privacy at all in Regge’s place. Neither of us were shy about nudity, but the situation had changed.
Or at least I had changed. I’d pretty much declared my feelings and been rejected, so there was that. I had to keep my head. Regge wasn’t interested, and he’d made that clear. Just friends. That was doable. Hopefully.
I set paper plates beside the pizza box and turned toward the sink, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. On the wall in front of me was a sketch of a beautiful young man. This one was done in pencil and colors, blond curls and bright blue eyes. Positioned so they will be smiling at Regge whenever he did dishes.
Charlie.
When he first arrived, Regge had described Charlie simply as his everything. He had healed physically, but emotionally, he still mourned his lover. As he came to trust me more, the story of Charlie’s death came out, along with bits and pieces of Regge’s past. He’d been through a lot.
Being tossed into the modern world had saved his life, but it was a big adjustment.
I’d had always thought of myself as a loner. But I realized I liked being Regge’s person. The one he relied on for help and information and rides and… everything. It had been a long time since I’d felt so needed, so useful.
I gestured to the pizza. “Should we dig in?”
