“What are you doing?” I ask, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“Getting Comfortable,” he says.
“I can see that. I meant, why? Aren’t you taking me home?”
“Dame took the bike to—” He pauses, then clears his throat, and ultimately decides not to finish that sentence.
“He should be back in a couple hours,” he says, leaning back against the pillows, arms folded behind his head.
“It’s fine, I’ll just walk.”
He sits up, canines bared as he sneers at me.
“Like hells, you are.”
Ugh. He’s such a man sometimes. Well, actually, all the time.
“Elliot, how do you think I got around before you and your stupid bike?”
“The bike’s not stupid,” he declares, pointing a finger at me. “And I don’t know. I don’t care either. My girlfriend is not walking home at night by herself. There’re freaks out there.”
I laugh, and some of the pressure I feel creeping into my chest dissipates.
“Mmhmm. There’re freaks in here, too.”
Elliot wiggles his brows, the little smirk stretching across his lips.
I almost fold at the sight of it.
My affection for his teeth is quickly becoming second to my affection for his lips. But I know what he’s doing, and I will not be persuaded.
I used to think Elliot was just funny, or that he had some kind of nervous tic that prevented him from holding in a joke whenever he saw the opportunity, but now I know better.
Now I realize that his carefully curated humor is not actually meant for him. It’s for everyone else. To ease them out of their worries, their fears. To make them forget just how lethal he is.
In different hands, that realization would be worriesome all on its own, but tonight he’s using it to remind me that I’m safe here with him, and it only makes the newfound feeling in my stomach grow.
Even more reason to go home.
“I’m tired,” I say, trying to find any excuse.
Elliot is prepared. He offers me a half smile as he snatches up the book on his nightstand and opens to a dog-eared page.
“Go to sleep then. I’ll wake you up when he gets back.”
He doesn’t look up from his book as he speaks. Another deliberate decision to show me that he is unconcerned with my presence.
“Where am I supposed to sleep exactly?”
Elliot groans, and I know I’m pushing my limit when he calls me by my clan name.
“Ashbourne, I think we’re allowed to sleep in the same bed. You’re wearing my socks for fuck’s sake.”
I look down at my feet and the dingy socks with the pinprick hole on top.
“Right,” I mutter. “Socks.”
I would laugh at that if I thought he was joking. But I’m pretty sure that my standing here wearing Elliot’s faded sweatpants and scratchy socks is the most intimate act either of us has ever performed.
