“No, no. He just does this sometimes.”
“And you’re just going to let him? Tell him you’ve got company,” he says, starting to frown. Maybe he imagines that there’s a world where Clayton can take no for an answer.
“No, you don’t understand. He’ll get mad,” I whisper. I don’t know how to explain it to someone who hasn’t been in the room with him when he’s like this, how awful even the smallest upset from him can feel, the way the mere quiet of the room feels crushing when he’s displeased.
I roll open the balcony door instead, the frigid night air sweeping through, and give him a pleading look.
Ellis sighs, but doesn’t argue.
He looks a little disappointed; it leaches into his posture, sinking his shoulders. I want to tell him I’m also upset that we don’t have more time, but that’s not something I can fix right this second. I’m willing to believe I can run into him in this city again, with our track record these last couple days.
“At least give me a kiss before I go,” he says, stopping in the doorway, hovering next to me.
I make a face at him, holding back a squeak that we don’t have any time to waste. Instead, I put a hand on his chest and grab the back of his neck with the other, tugging him down and standing on my toes to kiss him.
It lasts a few seconds longer than it should, but I can’t drag myself away from savoring the feeling of his mouth on mine. My tenuous balance gives out before I do.
Ellis grins down at me when I let go and land hard on my heels, putting a few inches of distance between our faces.
He glances at the floor between us, and I only have a moment to glimpse the panties I was looking for sticking out ofthe bottom of my pant leg, before he bends down and hooks a finger through them.
“Go, just go,” I say, waving frantically as the doorbell sounds.
This asshole ducks out the door with my fucking panties, tucking them against his chest as he zips his flying suit all the way back up. He flashes me a toothy, devil-may-care grin, and if I were any less worried about him being seen it would have melted me.
Not a second after I slide the balcony door shut again, my bedroom door opens. I whirl around, absolutely unprepared.
Clayton steps in wearing a glossy green tuxedo, a pair of champagne flutes and a bottle of something fancy in his hands. Even dressed up, the cybernetic robot glove wraps his right forearm.
For a heartbeat, I’m sure a look at me can only be damning. Ellis’s touch still feels present on my skin, my hair bedridden, and my mouth still flushed from his kiss.
Somehow all of it escapes Clayton’s notice as he frowns. “Did you get my text?”
“What? No, I haven’t checked my phone in a bit,” I say, feeling my cheeks redden guiltily.
I cannot deal with him right now. I haven’t had time to process any of my feelings about what just happened with Ellis. I need like a goddamn hour to journal about the fact I’ve still got his freaking saliva on me.
“Well, then. You should get dressed, come to dinner,” Clayton says, setting the glasses down. “The restaurant will hold our table.”
He starts fiddling with the foil and wire wrapping on the champagne bottle, peeling it open.
“I’ve already eaten.”
“Dessert, then. I have news,” Clayton tells me, waving a hand. The gesture activates the device on his arm, little robotic tendrils fluidly wrap around the bottle’s neck, popping the cork.
“Clayton, you can’t just drop by like this,” I tell him, hugging one arm around myself. “We talked about this, boundaries, remember?”
“I wanted you to come celebrate with me. The mayor finally got the paperwork through,” he says, brushing my concern off as if he didn’t hear it.
It’s really starting to rub me the wrong way that he keeps just letting himself in. This may be his building, but it’s my fucking apartment. But it’s fine, it’s whatever. I feel bad about missing his texts, it’s my fault for not answering earlier and heading this off before it started.
He pours each of us a glass, hands me one, and makes a movement with it as if to toast himself. “He named me ‘Protector of the City.’ I think it’s got a nice ring to it.”
I stand there with my arms crossed, staring back at him. A beat or two goes by and I’m not really sure what to say.
“Yeah, that’s...great,” I say, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. I’m pretty sure that’s just a formality. The mayor had drafted emergency citywide edicts when mutants first started popping up.
I sigh and resign myself to the fact that I’m going to have to put a bra back on. Maybe I can get away with just some red lipstick instead of doing full glam.
