Page 16 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

His friends. He’s mentioned them more than once, and it sticks in my mind as something important as I sit gingerly back in my chair.

“Your friends…are they like you? Are they…?” I mime holding and swinging a chainsaw, and his eyes darken with poorly hidden amusement.

“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere near my chainsaw,” he informs me as I drop my hands. “That’s not the kind of motion you make at all. You’d cut off your own leg, princess—” He freezes, finding my eyes for my reaction, and I realize he thinks he’s fucked up with the nickname. That I’ll be mad or run screaming.

But all I can really do is stare at him and try to remember if anyone, even a man I’ve dated, has called me princess.

That, and I try to ignore the fact I don’t hate it whatsoever. I should hate it. It should feel awful, or at least weird. But I hope my face doesn’t betray the only confusion I feel is at the timing and the source. Not the intent or the word itself.

“They don’t have chainsaws lying around, but they’re like me,” he adds awkwardly, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Just not raised by a family like mine. They just…are.” He shrugs, and I have no idea what in the world those words mean.

But I also don’t have the guts to ask.

“You can’t be sure I won’t tell.” God, why do I say the stupidest things? “Like, I could tell you all the things you want to hear. I could act like I won’t tell.” The stupid words that are going to get me murdered just keep coming, no matter how much I want to stuff them back inside. “Are you going to keep me here forever?”

“Well…” Jed sits back in his chair, eyeing me carefully. “You’re not a very good actor. Especially when you’re afraid. So if you try to come and tell me you won’t tell without meaning it, I’d be incredibly surprised if you can make me believe it. Sorry, Saylor.” His smile really is apologetic, and he loosely crosses his arms over his chest.

“So I’ll just have to trust you when I think you’re telling the truth. You’re right I’ll never know for certain. I’m not a mind reader. And I can’t stop you once you’re gone. But since I’m not willing to kill you, it puts me in a difficult place…unless you get murdered by a coyote, a tree, a stray twig, or a leaf,” he amends quickly.

Am I really so pathetic that he thinks a leaf could take me out? I open my mouth to ask, then close it, realizing I don’t want to know. After the chainsaw safety lectures he seems full of, I’m pretty sure he thinks me capable of any stupidity in the world right now.

“What do I have to do to convince you I won’t tell the police? You know, since if I promise it now and go on about it, I know you won’t believe me?” My words are careful, and I don’t expect a real answer, even as his gaze slants to the side, thoughtful.

“You could stop trying to murder me with my own chainsaw, for one,” he offers, brows raised with gracious intent. “That would be pretty cool. I enjoy carrying you, but not when it’s to stop you from accidentally hurting yourself⁠—”

“You could just say due to murderous intent,” I mutter, hating hearing, again, how I could’ve offed myself in my attempt to escape.

“Either way. You could stop trying to maim me with my own chainsaw. You could stop acting like I’m going to kill you every time you see me. Or looking for weapons over my shoulders while we talk.” He says it so casually. Like I’d been obvious in my intent.

It’s a blow to my self esteem that I’m not subtle, and I huff. “Aren’t you just bursting all of my bubbles tonight?” I mutter, the words more lighthearted than I expect them to be.

“Sorry.” His smile is wryly apologetic. “Why don’t you…tell me your favorite color?” he asks at last, getting to his feet and snagging my plate from in front of me while picking up his own. It feels wrong for him to cook and clean, and I know my mother is probably glaring at me from the afterlife as I let him scrape our bowls into the trash before running them under hot water.

She’d always been the one to preach good manners, under any circumstance. I’m sure even in this circumstance she’d preach good manners.

“Indigo,” I tell Jed, after a moment’s hesitation to consider the question. “My favorite color is indigo.”

“Why?” he doesn’t stop doing dishes as he asks, but does tap the toe of his shoe against the floor under him.

“I don’t know. I don’t think color preferences are a conscious choice, are they? Though I prefer cool colors, and the colors between other colors, if that makes sense.” I pluck at the napkin in front of me, eyes still fixed on his. “What’s yours?”

“Chartreuse,” he answers instantly.

“Oh, and you question my color choice? You should feel lucky I even know what chartreuse is.” Somehow, it’s easy to talk about things like this. Especially with the rewarding smile he throws my way as if it cost him nothing. Though, I guess it didn’t. He’s not the one watching his every move.

Or who should be, anyway.

“What’s your favorite food? I don’t want to make something you don’t like, so it benefits you as well.”

“Cheese makes the world go ‘round. It’s truly God’s gift to mankind.” I'm not really joking, and I watch as he turns to lean against the counter, his grin wide.

“I don't believe in God,” Jed admits, rolling his shoulders in the sleeves of his long-sleeve tee. “Sorry.”

I think back to the look of him in the swamp, with the chainsaw in his hands and blood covering him. “Yeah,” I sigh, hands dropping to my lap. “I guess if I were you, I might not either.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m staring down at his pillows, realizing for the first time that as this is the only bed in the cabin, it’s his bed. I’d seen the blanket and pillow on the couch in the living room below and I can hear him there now, rustling around as he gets ready to sleep. But I hadn’t realized that he’d let me monopolize his room and ensuite without even saying a word about it. He hadn’t told me he was sleeping here too, or kicked me to the floor or sofa, like a guest deserves.

Instead, he’d given me this room, this bed, his shower, while acting like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to take the couch and be relegated to the small bathroom. Jed had even revealed he’d grabbed a few days’ worth of clothes while I’d been knocked out, so he wouldn’t need to bother me with coming in and out.