“Show-off.” Reece held the bag out.
Grayson took it, his hand brushing Reece’s glove. “You can take the gloves off if you want. I mean, up to you, but you can’t accidentally read me and I’m not the one who’ll get knocked out if we get too close.”
He disappeared behind the door with the duffel. Having transformed the couch into a bed, Reece shucked his sweatshirt and swapped his jeans for a pair of threadbare flannel pajama pants. He grabbed Grayson’s hoodie—his now—and hopped up onto one of the bar stools. He tugged off his gloves and tossed them on the counter, flexing his fingers.
It had been months since he’d read someone. He’d be lying if he pretended he wasn’t craving it more desperately every day, to finally get out of his own jumbled-up, spiky feelings and into someone else’s.
He glanced at the hall that led to the bathroom.
What had Grayson’s emotions been like before he’d lost them? Had he always been stoic and distant? Cold, even? Or was the dry sense of humor the lingering ghost of a man who’d liked to laugh, who’d liked to make others laugh too? Had he always watched sports in silence, or had he been the type to jump to his feet in euphoric cheering when his team scored? Had he always been hard and tough, or had he had soft spots before, let people in close to his heart before it had been taken away?
Was there really nothing left to feel? If Reece could get used to his touch, the way he’d gotten used to Grayson’s voice and face—would he be able to find any traces left? Echoes of who he’d been?
Finding out might be worth getting knocked out however many more times.
You do realize every empath on this planet has a million reasons they don’t want even hate-sex with the Dead Man? No matter how hypothetical?
Reece shook himself again. Yeah, he’d definitely gone too long without reading someone if he was sitting here bargaining with himself over repeated unconsciousness versus touching Grayson.
Reece pulled on the giant hoodie. The sleeves came down far enough to offer some protection to his hands. Could a hoodie save him from Grayson’s Vulcan nerve pinch equivalent? Seemed unlikely, but wearing it gave him an excuse to ask.
A moment later, Grayson emerged from the hall in generic sweats and a plain white T-shirt that he could have bought on the road. His feet were bare, and Reece had a moment of vertigo with the surrealness of it all. “Okay if I get some water?”
“You literally came to my rescue like a guardian angel—well. Guardian enemy, maybe.” Reece put his chin on his sleeve-covered hand. “But help yourself without asking, is what I’m saying. I’m a little off my hosting game, finding out the Dead Man is not only real, he also does things like shower and go barefoot.”
“Be a peach and ignore it, won’t you?” Grayson said. “You’re gonna get the idea that I’m human and we already talked about this.”
As if Reece would ever be willing to think of him as some kind of robot. Even now, as Grayson passed him on the way into the small kitchen, he could see the shifting of his muscles under the slightly sheer T-shirt. Could smell the faint scent of something so stereotypically masculine he could have walked out of a cologne ad. Could feel a hint of the warmth of his big body as he passed Reece’s hand where it rested on the counter.
It didn’t matter what he was called or what he said. Grayson wasn’t dead.
“I just moved in a couple days ago, so I don’t actually remember where I put the cups,” Reece admitted. “You might have to dig.”
Grayson began opening cabinets, and Reece was going to sit on his stool and pretend he wasn’t watching the bizarro sight of the Dead Man rifling through his kitchen.
“Can’t help but notice all your top shelves are empty.”
Reece rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’m planning to bag someone tall and saving that space for them.”
Grayson had his back to Reece, his hair damp and short enough on the back of his head that his neck was bared. A lot of people were sensitive on the back of their neck, or behind their ears, or on their throat. You could skim that skin with kisses and feel the shift of their emotions as excitement grew.
Grayson was pulling a cup off a shelf and turning around. Reece quickly tried to smile like his thoughts were completely innocent. Platonic, even. It wasn’t like he was thinking about kissingGrayson’sneck. He was just—thinking. It could have been about anyone.
Grayson filled the glass under the tap, gaze flicking over Reece. “That definitely fits you better.”
Reece held out his arms pointedly, the sleeves flopping all the way forward to hide his hands.
Grayson turned off the tap. “Isn’t there a saying? It’s not the size that matters, it’s how you use it?”
Reece snorted. He folded his arms on the counter, his hands still tucked inside the sleeves. “If it covers my hands, could I use it to protect me from that knockout ability of yours?” he said casually. “How does it work, anyway?”
Grayson raised an eyebrow as he took a sip. “I already told you that you don’t get that kind of answer.”
“But we’re sharing a one-roomstudio. Shouldn’t I know the limits?”
“No.”
“Come on,” said Reece. “Is it just your touch? Or will I pass out if I make contact with any part of your body?”
