I open my mouth to ask more, but he stuffs it with half a spring roll. I glare at him. I get it. He doesn’t want to talk about his workanymore—for now. I chew the too-big piece down and accept the glass of Coke he passes me—which of course he knows is the drink I always get with Chinese food.
I tilt the glass too much and some of the cold liquid drips down my chin and neck. While I’m internally scolding myself, Ezra takes the glass from my hand and places it on the table.
“Sorry.” I bite my lower lip hard, embarrassed by my gracelessness.
He tsks, grabs my nape to hold my head still, and then proceeds to lick away all the dark liquid from my skin—every single drop. His tongue feels warm, leaving a cold, wet path behind. It’s the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to me.
“I told you already, you don’t need to apologize to me, not for this,” he whispers in a deeper voice when he’s done savoring me.
I can’t resist. My hands pull his face near mine, and I kiss him, infusing in the act all my desire and gratitude. This man really wants me.
When I let him go, the corner of his mouth is curled up in a crooked smile. I guess he likes my thank you. We go back to eating—Ezra still feeding me.
“The Band-Aids?” I ask him. “Did you draw the hearts?”
“Yes,” he simply says.
I huff. “Why? There must be a story there.”
“There is.” He lifts his chopsticks near my mouth, but I purse my lips and cross my arms in rebellion.
He stares at me, his compelling eyes ordering me to open. I don’t, though.
“Stubborn Little Chick,” he mutters. “There was a male nurse who used to do it. He helped me escape the facility where I was held.”
My lips part in surprise, and he takes advantage, pushing the food into my mouth. I can see victory in his hazel pools.
“How did he help you?” I cover my mouth full of food with my hand as I ask. Is he going to tell me?
“A fire broke out in the cell near mine. I was locked inside, couldn’t get out without help, but everybody was running away; they didn’t want to save someone who was waiting for a chance to kill them.” He’s looking ahead as he recalls the memory. His voice is void of any emotion, as if this wasn’t a dramatic part of his past.
“But one male nurse who had always been nice to me, even after I stabbed him in the arm.” He sniffs like he’s remembering something funny. “He opened the door, and he told me he was going to get me out of there. I recall thinking I would get rid of him once we were outside. Only a piece of the ceiling fell on me.” He touches the burn scars on his shoulders.
“When I woke up, I was lying in a bed, and my body was covered in pink bandages with little hearts on them.”
So he was saved by one of the people who used to work in the facility.
“What happened after?” My hand finds its way onto his chest.
“I needed time to recover, so I stayed with him and his father on their ranch.” He takes a sip of his beer.
“Were they good to you?” I ask, caressing his skin.
“Good?” He repeats the word like he never thought about it. “They hid me, gave me a place to stay, food, books, and tried to make me understand society’s rules, asking in exchange to help them on the ranch. Perhaps spurred by pity or whatever other useless emotions they were feeling, but they showed me how to live out in the world. Do you think they were good?”
The fact that he still uses those same bandages and takes his time to draw the hearts tells me that those people were more than just good to him.
I nod. “I’m glad you had them.” My voice sounds too breathless.
“They died in a car accident.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” My heart breaks for him. Does he have nobody except for Uri, then?
He shrugs. “I killed the fucker who caused it. It wasn’t his first time drinking and driving.” That was expected. “I own their ranch back in Ohio.”
They left it to him? And he kept it. They must have formed a bond of some kind if he didn’t sell it. The more I discover about him, the more I want to know. But isn’t it normal when you like someone?
“I’d like to see it one day. Would you take me there?” I hazard.
