Page 62 of Nine-Tenths

Min-soo finds Pedra's social media profiles, but they’re locked down and there's no way to message her. By the time I get to the pharmacy, Pedra’s left for the day, and her employers won't give me her phone number no matter how much I beg. She's in the goddamned wind and we’rescrewed.

Dav is fretting so badly that Hadi tells him to go. We both agree that it wouldn’t be wise for Dav to be alone right now, so I take him back to my place. When we get there, a small leather carry-all is waiting on the porch.

"How'd this get here?" I ask as he sets it on the sofa. It's a quaint brown Gladstone bag that could be a hundred years old for all I know.

"I have staff," he says stiffly, as if each word is gagging him.

"Right," I say and leave it at that.

Fine. He'll talk or not, and I'm not going to get my head snapped off for trying to make conversation. We eat cold leftovers in silence, take turns in the shower, and even though it's just approaching sunset, we curl up in my bed. After a few tense minutes, we give in to the urge to hold on to each other.

This is nice.

This is better than snapping. This is physical connection, warmth and safety, but no need to talk. We're facing each other, ankles hooked. Our damp hair leaves wet patches on the pillow we share. Dav's got his pinkie finger wrapped around mine.

I stay still and let him look at me. It's not a gaze of adoration, or even of lust. He looks like there's a math equation written on my forehead, and he's sure he should have the answer but he doesn't know how to get there.

I guess it’s got him stumped, because he asks, "Why are you here?"

"This is my bed."

He rolls his eyes, but it makes him smile, so I count it as a point on my scorecard.

"You know what I mean."

With my free hand, I reach out and push his hair back from his face. It clings to my fingers like fine-spun spider silk. "You're hot."

Dav snorts. "Hardly."

"It's my opinion that matters in this case, not yours."

"I'll concede to that."

"I like how you talk as if we're in a historical romance."

The corner of Dav's mouth twitches up. "We can't all speak like incomprehensible meme-masticating machines."

"There, see? Just like that." I shuffle closer, sliding my hand between his shoulder blades, holding him in place. "I like that you give a shit about people."

"That's draconic instinct," Dav says. "Nothing I can help."

"Doesn't mean I can't still like it."

Dav hums, disagreeing with me.

"And, ah, the way you look at me."

Dav scowls. "Creepily?"

"When you just sat at that table and said nothing, yeah. But now, I just… I can tell that you want me."

Dav's frown deepens. "Those are all things about my attraction to you making you feel desirable. Is there nothing aboutmethat you like?"

"Ouch. Got me right in the Rules."

He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. "I’ve told you why I want you. But that's not the same as you choosing it for yourself. My interest doesn't mean youmustreciprocate."

"I dunno, Ilikeyou, okay? Do we have to think that hard about this? You're a decent person, and you give a shit about other people, and you like me. I guess it's… I asked you to read me a love story in the hospital, and you didn't laugh at me. Isn't that a good place to start?"

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