My mouth twitches and forms a small smile. I appreciate the way she strings words together. Most beautiful women don’t sharpen their wit to a razor’s edge.
Makes me wonder how she became acerbic. Rape maybe, considering this morning’s admission. If so, though, strange that she curled up next to me and touched me while I slept. Don’t victims of sexual assault become withdrawn and nervous?
“What?” she asks, her eyes on her phone’s screen. Apparently, she caught me watching her.
“Nothing.” I turn my attention back to the road and pull into the parking lot of the coffee shop. A large window reveals Eden Buchanan and another dancer sitting on an inflatable lime green couch. This place is as lightweight as its furniture. Coffee’s always burnt. Music always sucks.
At least the view will be good this morning, I think, glancing at Arya.
After parking, I go in with her but get my coffee to go and return to the truck.
When coffee time is over, Arya comes back with a sour expression. “Eden’s being so pushy about our living arrangement. Someone should hire her to writeThe Dispatch’sgossip column.”
There’s no gossip column. “Hmm.”
As I start the SUV, her fingers snag my coffee cup. My hand freezes on the gear shift as she drinks the last of it. The lack of boundaries revs my engine and strokes my balls, metaphorically. As she swallows whatever traces of my saliva are left in the cup, I suck on my lower lip. If she wants to drink my bodily fluids, I can think of some better ways to deliver them to her.
Licking plum lips, she shakes her head. “Black is fine, except when they burn it. How does a coffee shop fuck up basic drip coffee?”
“With great determination.”
After a second, she chuckles. Her smile is blinding even in daylight.
“I guess so.” She runs a hand through her hair. “When I told Eden you didn’t ask me about the contents of her text message, she got nosy, dropping boulder-sized hints.”
“Hmm.”
“I still don’t care or want to talk about it,” she says, charging on. “But you should probably block her.”
Not a fucking chance. Shutting down the flow of information would go against everything I stand for, and Eden seems like she’ll be a better source than most.
“Give me your phone. I’ll do it.” She reaches out as though she’s going to slide a hand into my pocket.
“If you put your hand in my crotch, you won’t get it back until I reciprocate.”
Her hand pauses and her eyes narrow, but her pretty mouth curves into a small smile. “What are you hiding on your phone, Viking?”
When I don’t answer, her smile widens, but she settles back into her seat.
I should definitely have fucked her all morning, so I wouldn’t have to spend all day thinking about it.
15
ERIK
As I emerge from the truck, I spot Shane standing in the shadow of a mangled building, which appears cold, even with the sun beating down. The wind catches the cracked concrete, creating a whistling sound.
I lock the truck and stride across the overgrown grass and through a maze of rubble. The warped building’s broken windows open like gaping mouths.
A work crew erects a fence around the property. Apparently, murder was one hazard too many for the decrepit site’s owner.
Shane drinks from a to-go cup, holding up a hand in greeting. My boots crush glass underfoot as I make my way to him.
“Morning,” he says, extending a hand.
We shake, and I look around. “I checked city records. Ralston owns most of this.”
Drew Ralston, self-made billionaire, is Granthorpe’s most successful alum. He may also be the most famous, though Declan’s closed most of the gap by starring in cologne ads.Perfume for men.I roll my eyes.
