“Come on,” I beg my trembling hands. Tears spill down my face as I struggle to keep my emotions in check. I strike my cheek in frustration, trying to snap myself out of it. “For fuck’s sake!” I growl, feeling like I’ve swallowed a razor blade. “It’s been over twenty years; stop it!”
I just about have the text message typed out when I hear a knock on my front door.
Please, God, don’t make me answer that door right now.
I freeze on the top of the stairs, hoping that if I don’t make a sound, whoever it is will think I’m not home and go away.
They don’t.
Of course they don’t.
Why would I be granted even a tiny fucking mercy?
Running into the bathroom, I quickly splash some cold water on my face, blow my nose, and reach for the bottle of clear eye drops on the bathroom counter. As I squeeze a few drops into each eye, I don’t have time to cover my blotchy skin with makeup, I’m hoping I can pass for someone just home from the gym.
“One second!”
I swear to Christ that if this is Enda, my postman, I’m going to kick his arse.
Then I realise it’s Sunday. No post. Not Enda.
I pull the front door open and nearly puke all over his freshly pressed jeans. “Aiden?”
Double shit!
I didn’t even hit send on the text.
“What are you doing here?” We were supposed to meet at the cafe. Why is he at my house?
There is a dangerous glimmer in his eyes as he takes mymeasure. “What’s wrong?”
“Migraine,” I manage to mutter, trying to hide my confusion. “I was going to—”
“Cancel?” He steps inside, uninvited—not a vampire then. He’s got a massive box in his hands and sets it down on the couch.
“What’s that?” I ask, my voice trembling.
He’s already removing his jacket, revealing a black t-shirt that fits tightly against his muscular frame. “I figured I’d give your rats something other than my face to shit on,” he replies with a smirk. His eyes homing in on the guinea pig cage in the corner of the room. Hunkering down beside the cage, his eyes lock on my black and white cavy. “Oreo, I presume?”
I nod, still unsure of how to react to his unexpected presence.
“And this one,” he points to my orange cavy. “Cinnamon?”
“Ginger.” I can’t help but grin at his accurate guess. Risking a peek inside the box, I see everything from washable cage liners to a variety of toys and treats. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know,” he says, getting to his full height and turning to me. “What’s wrong, Katie?”
“I told you it’s a—”
“No. It’s not,” he interrupts, his voice firm yet gentle. “I can see it in your eyes. Something’s wrong.”
I shrug and turn my back on him, feeling a round of tears trying to fight their way to the surface. “I’m just not feeling too well. I think I might be coming down with something.”
“Good thing I’ve got a strong immune system,” he says with a small smile. “Go on then,” he tilts his head towards the stairs.
“What?”
“Might as well get comfortable since we’re not going out for coffee.”
