Digging my toes in against the mattress, I glanced around the room. Rowen had kissed me so nicely and softly, and Cillian had made me feel good even though he’d fucked me like he didn’t care if he hurt me or not. I’d hoped maybe this would be more than tonight—more than a few lost hours.
But I’d known better. I nodded and turned to put my feet on the floor. My face heated and my belly coiled with a surprising amount of nerves. “That would be great, but I’m not dressed. Could you...?”
“I’ll wait in the hallway.” He winked and went out the open door but didn’t shut it. He moved to the side, and I got the idea he might just be leaning against the wall. Running a hand down my face, I glanced around and spotted all my clothing except for my socks and suit coat. How I’d lost them, I didn’t remember, but I threw back the blanket and rushed to put everything else on, then went out into the hall.
I swiped at a couple of wrinkles on my shirt and said, “Falcon.” I pointed at him and winced. It was easier with my students. They had no hope left that I would retain this type of information.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re doing this to wound me. Fallon.” He touched my elbow.
“Not the bird.”
“No.”
I pursed my lips and tried to repeat his name to myself silently as I followed him downstairs and along a short hall to the dining room that spread out to include the kitchen. The round table held three pizza boxes, and the idea of food had my mouth watering. As soon as I started wondering what the toppings were, I lost track of the name I’d been repeating.
It was a lost cause.
“Your hair reminds me of a gold pen I had once, and the pen is mightier than the sword, and Edward Bulwer-Lytton is credited with that line about Cardinal Richelieu, so do you mind if I call you Duke? I feel like I won’t forget that.” He turned and opened his mouth, but now I was feeling nervous. “I’m okay, even though I got jumped. Did you get hurt? Is that why you said you might feel sick if you didn’t eat?”
He went to a chair at the table and pulled it out, lips twitching toward a smile. At first I thought he was going to sit down there, but he gestured at it. I scratched the back of my head and sat as he pulled another chair over closer to me and took a seat with his elbow resting on the table.
“Oh, I’m diabetic.” He lifted the bottom of his white T-shirt and a small blue plastic device that looked like a cell phone from 1999 was hooked onto the waist of his jeans, and from it a small clear tube went out to a circle of what appeared to be medical-grade tape anchoring something to his hair-free skin—which covered a very nice six pack. “This bad boy is an insulin pump.” He pointed at the cell phone-looking thing. “I’m constantly getting insulin from it. Much easier than the old way of doing things, where you had to stab yourself all the time. If I don’t eat, bad things happen. Because I’m always getting insulin, my blood sugar can drop fast if I’m not keeping up with meals. I totaled a car last year because my blood sugar tanked when I was too busy to eat. Unfortunately I can’t be too busy for anything anymore.” There was a bitterness to his tone that his smile didn’t match. “I was diagnosed three years ago, and it’s been a struggle. Always being on a schedule and setting timers for shit that should be normal, like eating.” His smile slipped to a sour frown, and I rested a hand on his shoulder.
“I know what that’s like. I....” For a second I didn’t say anything. It was nice having people who didn’t look at me like a barely functional science experiment, but he seemed as if he was having a rough time. “I have ADD. Well, they call it all ADHD these days, but that’s what they called it when I was younger. I have to be careful to set alarms and plenty of reminders, too.”
“For meds?”
“No, for everything.” I drew my hand back and rested it on the table, picking at the edge of a pizza box. “There isn’t anything I can’t manage to forget to do, including teach my classes.” I laughed but lost the enthusiasm for it and let it die fast.
Fallon rested his chin on his fist, and I appreciated the strong lines of his face. “Sucks that our bodies don’t have warranties, right? I love everything about mine, except this.” He slipped his hand down to pat the pump.
I tapped my temple. “It would be a little harder to replace what’s wrong with me. Everything that makes memeis in here, along with all the faulty wiring. I have to be all right with it. Mostly, I am. I try to look at my strengths rather than dwell on what other people call my weaknesses.”
His smile warmed and he reached over to tap my chin. “Eh, I like you wired the way you are. Let me get the stuff you need.” I sat and watched him head over to a cupboard in the kitchen. He brought me back a plate, napkins, and a beer and set them on the table in front of me. “Sorry, the beer’s warm. Everyone else in the house complains if I put it in the fridge.” He went back to his chair and sprawled in it, tipping it back on the rear legs.
“You don’t have to do this but thank you.” I flipped open the closest pizza box and cheered internally when it was pepperoni and nothing else. I grabbed a slice out and plopped it on the plate. “How do you do... you know, with your stomach. I hate the way blueberry candles smell. Have you ever had one burning in your house? They’re like breathing bad syrup.”
“What?” he asked on a laugh and rocked back farther.
“Oh, I noticed... do you wax your stomach? You’re hairless. It’s... different.” My face burned in embarrassment. I picked up my slice of pizza and took a large bite to give myself something to do other than talk. I chewed and the spices hit my tongue. It was good, and exactly what I needed after the bedroom workout. I took another bite as soon as I swallowed the first.
“Yeah. I do. I’m a professional fighter. Well, I call myself a professional anyway.” He rolled his shoulders and frowned at the ceiling. “But see, my hair is blond.” He pointed at his head, but I didn’t follow his logic and only shrugged.
“So what?”
“Blond hair isn’t manly. It’s just peach fuzz. Or at least mine is when it grows in. It’s soft, and I’d rather it just wasn’t there. Waxing it off is a decision instead of a casualty of nature.” He shook his head, but I was glad to see he was smiling again.
“It looks good. Is your skin smooth or does it get stubble?” I asked, touching my chin, which was starting to get rough.
He smirked, and the front legs of the chairthunkedto the floor. “Wanna find out?” He raised the hem of his shirt again. “I wax everything,” he said.
I glanced at his head. “Except that. Your hair is long. That must be a disadvantage when fighting.” I reached over and ran my fingers through his soft hair, and he leaned closer to let me. It really was silky and fine.
He shrugged. “I like it. Go ahead. You can touch me.” His voice slipped down to a low rumble and my gut squirmed happily. I loved the way he sounded.
The air seemed charged as I reached down and brushed my fingers under his belly button, then pulled them back. I didn’t feel guilty per se, but the way he smiled was getting more dangerous by the second.
He hummed out a happy little sound. “You can take your time. I don’t mind.”
