He jerked alive at the nickname, but he didn’t move. “They aren’t like me.”
I frowned. “What? Who’s not like you?”
“I thought they’d be like me. That’s what the rumors say. How cruel they are, but they aren’t like me. They’re like you.”
I still didn’t know who he was talking about. “Eight?” I was going to regret this. “Come here.”
He only lifted his head up.
I patted the bed. “Come here.”
He stared at me, and I felt that stare. It was long, intense, but somehow I didn’t feel he was even seeing me.
Creighton was lost, and that was never a good thing on any day, but Eight being lost just hurt my heart. He always knew what to do, where to go, who to maim. I didn’t like this version being in my room, more so because it was confusing inuncomfortableways too. “Please.”
The please did it.
He got up from the chair, and the bed depressed under his weight. He kneeled, but waited because I knew the routine. And I was heating up for those same other reasons because us being in bed together used to not be so uncommon, but that’d been when I was a kid. When I was sick and he stayed to watch animal shows with me. Or if I had a nightmare and he was just there, even when he wasn’t in the house anymore, but somehow he always knew when I woke up silently screaming with tears soaking my face. He was there, and he would sleep next to me, and it worked. I calmed. His presence and the weight of his body beside me, touching my shoulder, and I fell back asleep.
Grief rose up in me, mixing with this new inferno inside of me as well. I’d missed this time with him. These moments.
But this was different. Time changed us, changed this.
I was suddenlyvery awareof our close proximity and how muscled, but lean, Creighton was. The power of his body, every movement hemade. And his smell. God. I’d missed it. A manly pine tree musk. There were times when I’d wear his hoodie to school and I’d bury my head into his sweatshirt, breathing deep. His smell settled me.
But the routine tonight was making me aware of him, aware of how his gaze lingered on my underwear, and gah. I was hot all over. I liked my beds against the corner so I scooted up against the wall. He was on the side of the bed closest to the door. We lay on our sides, sharing a pillow.
“You’re attracted to me.”
“Creighton!” I was dying. I covered my face with my hands and wanted to shrink farther down in bed.
He said that so clinically, as if he wasn’t affected either. Wait. Was he?
I lowered one of my hands and peeked at him. He was still watching me, that ever-present emptiness in his eyes, but he was tracing over my face.
I wished he was normal. I knew he wasn’t, but in that moment, I wished I could see a little something.
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
He said, “You’re twenty-two. Long past the age of consent now.”
I was back to squirming. “Creighton, please. I’m still ...” I grasped at something out of desperation. I was still mad at him, but all of that was pushed to the back of my head because he was right. I was attracted to him. Fuck. Fuck! What did I do with this now? I had enough on my plate dealing with Creighton. I did not need to add sexual chemistry, and yep. So squirming. “Can we—uh—why are you here?”
He was silent beside me, and I could feel him studying the side of my face. “You don’t want to talk about this attraction you have for me? Your body is getting hot, and your pulse is spiking. It’s hard to ignore this. I think we should talk about this.”
“Please stop,” I hissed, back to covering my face with both of my hands again. “I’m fucked in the head enough as it with you and our deal and ugh, everything that’s you. You’re hot. You know you are. It’s late at night. I’m straight, and yeah. This is a normal reaction. Don’tget a big head about this. I’d feel this way about any—” I squeaked because suddenly my hands were ripped away from my face and he was looming over me.
“You don’t talk about another man when I’m in bed with you,” he growled. Savagely.
Oh, god. That was even hotter.
I whispered, “Creighton.”
He continued to stare down at me, his eyes now flaring and growing dark. Molten.
Holy shit. Holy shit! He wanted me too.
No way. I mean . . .
