My vision blurred, my eyelids possessing such heaviness, I couldn’t keep him in sight. Carried off to the back of my mind for the night.
Chapter Nine
The Performer
It wasn’t a dance, more like stumbling around each other in avoidance. Painfully sober, we both were quiet. He kept his promise, he stayed for breakfast, but I was quickly learning he wasn’t a morning person.
Good, neither am I.
I was planted firmly by the window table, chewing on a dried apricot as I watched him ready himself for work between cups of coffee.
He pretended to be bothered by my disorganized home, yet his jackets, ties, shoes, and notebooks were playing hide-and-seek with him. I suppose the living room had become his bedroom. If only he knew it didn’t have to be that way.
Absently, I chewed on my fruit, watching him as he fluttered about. Now he was looking for his satchel. It was on the floor under the coffee table, but I would let him find it himself for his own mental stimulation.
“Something amusing?”
I looked up, my smile falling once he spoke.
Arkady was staring at me with a cocked brow.
I shook my head, tearing another chewy piece from my snack.
He stalked over, leaning a palm against the table. His body cast a slight shadow as he hovered before me. “You asked me to stay aroundfor breakfast. Will you at least share?” His voice was a little softer, a little cockier.
I picked up a new piece from the bowl, holding it up.
Arkady leaned down, grasping the piece between his teeth before I let go. He tipped his head back, chewing. His brows furrowed together, and he squinted his eyes as if he was deciding whether he liked it or not.
“What do you think?” I finally asked.
He lifted a shoulder before it slouched again. “I guess you won’t have to worry about me stealing any from your stash.”
“Well, you’re not allowed to complain about food anyway.” A tinge of defensiveness caught in my throat. “It’s not like you are here for any of the meals on any normal day.”
“I can be.”
I straightened my posture a bit, biting into my last piece. He was looking at me, I could feel it. Expecting some sort of praise perhaps? No, sir, that was the minimum.
“Would you like that?” He picked up a neat curl of my hair, twisting it between his fingers.
“Really?” I looked up at him, his expression soft. No hint of any teasing or insincerity.
“When you say it like that, I’m not sure if it’s disbelief or it was a bluff invitation.”
I nudged his hand away, but he caught my own in his.
“Noontime,” he insisted, forcing his fingers to lace with mine, forcing my attention onto him. “I’ll come home at noontime.”
“You’re not too busy? Will it affect your work?” He was right, maybe it did sound like I was making excuses.
“It can wait.” He brought my hand to his lips. “I make my own schedule, after all.”
“So are you coming home for company, or are you procrastinating?” I teased.
He shrugged again. “Maybe I just need to sneak a midday visit to save me from my boredom.”
“You say that like it’s scandalous to see me.”
