Page 54 of No, You Hang Up

“You’re stuck with me for the rest of our unnatural lives. And if you ever flirt with anyone else or let another boy touch you”—he nudges the back of my neck with his lips—“I’ll take it as an invitation to skin them alive while you watch.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on doing that then,” I snap as my stomach twists with reservation and reminders of what he is.

But he just grins against my skin. “Maybe,” he agrees nonchalantly. “For now, anyway.” His words bother me, make me a little uneasy. But I don’t ask him what he means. I don’t ask if heexpectsme to want that.

To want to be part of his fucked up game.

Knocking on my door drags me out of my coma in a way that immediately leaves me irritated. I groan and roll over onto my face, as if that’ll somehow make it so I can’t hear the three rings of my doorbell and the next pounding sound as it reverberates through my walls.

“I’m going to kill her if it’s Patrice,” I hear Huxley murmur, and he gets to his feet with a sigh. Sitting up, I watch as he grabs his jeans and t-shirt from the floor, though he doesn’t bother putting on shoes. That’s when it strikes me how at home he looks here, in my room, with tousled hair and a sleepy look on his face.

Suddenly, the idea of him never leaving looks a lot better than it did when he first stated it as a possibility. Now I want to see this look of his every morning, where he just seems so adorable and innocent andHuxley.

But then of course he ruins it by grinning at me and crooks his fingers toward where I’m still comfortable in bed. “Come on, little bunny,” he coos. “She’s going to think you’re dead if you don’t come to the door as well. She’s only seen me once, remember? And the cops were involved.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, because he’s right. I drag myself to my feet and go to my closet, having the privilege of grabbing anything I want instead of what I wore last night. When I turn, however, I find Huxley’s attention fully on me, with eyes full of hunger and his lips pressed into a frown. Immediately I stop, with a t-shirt and running shorts in one hand. “What?” I ask, unsure.

“You,” he just says with a shrug. “Just…” He gestures at my body. “You. Existing. I’d rather you not wear anything at all and just exist like this for me.”

I smile at him before pulling on the shorts, then dragging my t-shirt on over head. “Yeah, well. Patrice might not like that. And she’d hit me with so many HOA fines I’d never get out of debt. If the sight of it didn’t just kill her and her delicate sensibilities first.”

“I keep telling you I could do that for you.” I follow Huxley out of the room, trailing after him down the hallway until he’s at the front door. Just as it hits me that maybe I should be the one to do the talking, Huxley unlocks the door and pulls it open to reveal Patrice’s unhappy, stunned face.

“Hello,” Huxley greets, leaning on the doorframe like he’s not considering all the ways he could kill her. “I’m glad you found a break in the rain to come over here.” He looks up at the still cloudy sky, like he’s concerned. “Did you need something?”

From behind him, I see Patrice gape at Huxley, like his appearance has ruined whatever speech she’s got wound up inside her. “I—” She glances back at my driveway, then at him. “Your truck,” she snaps finally. “I’m assuming it’s yours?”

“Yes, it is,” he agrees oh-so-politely. Though something on his face tells me that he’s definitely thinking of things that would terrify the poor old woman into having a heart attack on the spot.

And what a tragedy that would be.

“You’re blocking the sidewalk.” We stare at her as she says it, and I raise a brow just as I go on my toes to look out into my driveway. Sure enough, the tailgate of his truck is maybe two inches over where it should be, prompting me to roll my eyes.

“Seriously?” I ask, unable to be friendly this morning. “Seriously? How can you even tell? It’s literally?—”

“I’ll fix it,” Huxley promises, cutting me off smoothly and raising a hand placatingly. “She’s just tired, and we didn’t see it last night when we came back. I’ll put my shoes on and get it fixed ASAP if that’s okay with you.” He’s not really asking, and she must see it in his face, behind his charming grin.

Patrice opens her mouth, then hesitates. It occurs to me that even the dumbest person can spot a wolf in sheep’s clothing, even if they don’t quite realize that’s what they’re looking at. But some primal part of her must be ringing out the danger bells, because instead of her usual frustrating and argumentative nature, she just nods. “Get your shoes on first,” she agrees, almost like she’s trying to mollify him or agreeing to make herself look less irritating. “No rush.”

God, she never says that to me.

“Sorry about that. I’ll be more careful next time.” His smile is award-winning, and brighter than the sun that’s currently invisible in the sky. “Thanks for letting me know, though, instead of slapping Kai with a fine.”

I wish he wouldn’t bring up fines, since that’ll definitely make Patrice go feral and slap them all over wherever she can. At least, that’s her usual response. This time she shakes her head, offering him an almost friendly smile. “It’s too early to think about fines.” She shrugs. “I just wouldn’t want anyone running into your truck or riding a bike into it.”

She’s full of shit.

“Which I appreciate,” Hux agrees, still leaning comfortably on the doorframe. “I just bought that truck. I’d hate to go crying to insurance already about a ding or scratch.” He beams at her, and finally Patrice makes another excuse that has her off of my porch and trudging back across the street.

“I’ve never hoped for a car to appear and hit someone more than I do right now,” I murmur as we watch her go. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Hux asks, distracted.

“You know…” I wave my hand at her. “That. She just sort of agreed with you instead of reading you the riot act. Like she likes you or?—”

“She’s afraid of me.” He steps back and closes the door, one hand coming up to tug playfully on the front of my shirt. “Terrified, I think.”

“She has no idea what you are,” I argue, in case he thinks I told her for some reason. “She doesn’t know?—”

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