Page 86 of Endless Anger
My fingers spread on Keats’s fur. “You guys are kind of old to be fighting like you used to, don’t you think?”
“We do it less often than when we were younger,” he says, shrugging. “Some things just…bring it out of us.”
“Of you, you mean. Foxe is a lover through and through.”
Asher’s jaw works from side to side, and he lets the shirt fall to the ground. “Yeah. I’m usually the problem.”
He doesn’t say it like he wants me to refute it, which is just as well, because I won’t. Asher’s an instigator and always has been, though no one aside from his parents has ever seemed able to predict what might set him off.
I lift my chin, tentatively seeking his gaze.
His attention feels too intense, like staring straight into the heart of the sun. It burns me in places I’ve long since forgotten, and I rip myself away, rolling onto my back. Keats, disturbed by the shift, leaps off the bed and crawls under it.
The ceiling, like all others in Erebus Hall, is covered in water stains. They leak when it rains too much—already, there’s a deep, dark patch directly over the bed, threatening in its presence.
Or maybe that’s the man across the room. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell.
The bed dips, drawing me to the side with it as Asher starts to climb in.
“Hey!” I put my arms up, avoiding contact with his bare skin. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’mtired. I’d like to sleep.”
He rolls over, facing the wall without bothering to get beneath the covers. I feel immensely crowded and pull at the blankets, trying to keep a modicum of modesty now that I’m hyperaware of the fact that I’m in nothing but panties and a T-shirt.
HisT-shirt.
It’s innocent enough, but there’s something about being half-naked and squished here with him that makes me feel…weird.
My skin buzzes with anticipation. Of what, I don’t fucking know, because I’m certainly not planning on jumping his bones.
Even if something deep, deep within me really wants to. A longing tugs low in my abdomen, begging me to turn and have my way with him.
But I don’t. Nerves or anger win out, and I just stare at the open sketchbook on his desk.
Unable to rest now, I move to get up.
Asher’s voice halts me. “Where are you going?”
“You don’t need me taking up space?—”
“I do,” he says softly, his hand sliding over my forearm, squeezing tight. He’s still facing the wall. “Please, Lucy. Stay.”
Swallowing so hard I see stars, I sink back into the mattress. For a few moments, I wiggle around, trying to get my bearings.
“This bed really isn’t big enough for us both,” I mutter, gripping the covers so tight my fingers feel like they might fall off.
“Do you want to get on top of me?”
Heat sears across my chest, eating up my neck and face. “Absolutely not.”
“Don’t say I didn’t try to help.”
“Inappropriate suggestions aren’t helpful.”
“Inappropriate? We shared when we were younger, and you had no problem with it then.”
“That was different.”
