Page 22 of Of Poison & Pumpkins
There isn’t much to grab. I smile at his retro rip-off daily calendar that shows October 15 because next to the date is an image of a popular band from our high school days. Did someone give him a Lollipop Daze souvenir as a joke, or is he still a fan of the pop group?
Zanther’s head pops in through the doorway and says, “At least the water doesn’t smell. Don’t think it’s contaminated. I’m on hold with the restoration company, and I’m emailing your insurance agent right now.” His forehead creases before he disappears out of the door from the hallway.
Guess it makes sense, since he may not even fit in this space with the two of us. I can’t believe Elias lives here.
Elias rises, his sculpted back towards me. As he rings out his shirt, his shoulders and back flex. My unspeakable parts want unspeakable things. Water shouldn’t be sexy. He turns, and that makes everything worse. Because his pants are also wet, giving me a detailed outline of his yums.
Maybe a one-night stand with my past flame wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He seems like the type to try anything once, so I may as well take advantage while he’s flirting.
“Come on, Doomsday. You’re sleeping at my place tonight.” I gesture for him to follow me out.
For the first time, he seems to realize minimal clothing items are separating us and takes a step backward. “Doomsday? You can do better than that. I need an epic nickname; one you can scream at the top of your lungs or from the peak of a mountain.”
While he slips on a fresh shirt, I silently imagine all the ways I’d want him to make me scream.
I take a deep breath. “Need anything else?”
He reaches for something pinned on the wall next to his microwave that I hadn’t noticed. It’s a picture of him and Zanther, both laughing while rowing on a lake under a sunset. The expression he wears is … well, it’s everything.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Elias
In the alleyway, the air has that perfect autumn scent that’s hard to describe. A calming breeze glides across my neck like a teasing embrace. As always, my car takes up two spots, parked diagonally due to my lack of spatial awareness. I’m not an intentional asshole.
“I’m not sleeping at your place. I’ll go to Zee’s,” I say to Rynn’s back as she struts away.
“Can’t,” Zanther remarks and I shoot him a questioning gaze. “You specifically said you won’t come to my place till Halloween, so I made other arrangements till then, bro.” Zanther pops my trunk with his spare key and gestures for me to throw my armful of dry possessions into the back. “I have a guest.”
“Every night?”
“If I do it right.” When he grins widely, I roll my eyes.
Next to me, Rynn gently places my suspenders into the trunk like they’re newborns, then shifts on her feet, her brows forming a tight, wrinkled line. “This won’t work. We need tissue paper to wrap them in or something.”
Absolutely adorable. It seems she was listening when I mentioned my obsession with my favorite accessory. The collection started when I graduated from State with a bachelor’s in marketing. Grandpa’s gift to me had been two pairs of suspenders, one he had worn to his first day of work half a century ago, the other a new pair for me. After that, it became my trademark look. In fact, one of the magical spells I had chosen during a past ritual was to find the most unique pair of suspenders ever created. I now rock that rainbow pattern with unicorns every major holiday.
“Then, I’ll get a hotel. I’m not sleeping at your place,” I say, slamming my trunk shut.
As the afternoon sun kisses Rynn’s hair, it highlights a purple streak within her braids. If the way she’s looking at me right now is any indication of my chances at refusing her offer, then sleeping at her place might be inevitable. At least I’ll have an inside view of what makes Rynn tick. Will she pity me as charity? Will she think I’m taking advantage?
“Stop thinking so loud,” Rynn says and crosses her arms.
I’d do anything to kiss that scowl off her face. When was the last time she truly laughed? That’s it! My new mission will be to make her laugh. And living at her place will give me the best chance at success. Only temporarily, of course, until the repairs are complete.
“I’ll crash at your place for one week tops, then I’m out. Tell me if I get annoying.”
“If?”
“Ah, the jokester has arrived!” I jest, just as a splat of bird poop lands on my clean shirt. “Oh, flamin’ furg tittle!”
The most glorious sound erupts from the depths of Rynn. A laugh that holds the keys to faraway kingdoms in dreamscapes. A laugh that could give fish wings. And I can’t tolerate the fact that I’ve missed years of hearing it.
This woman. Damn, I admire her bravery. Rynn values herself and is comfortable in her own skin—a trait I don’t possess. I envy her strength. I bet my left nut that the only friends she has are those who truly see her, understand who she is, and don’t judge.
Suddenly, the smell of rotten meat carries over the wind, and the rumble of a trash truck along cobblestones follows.
“Ew, that stinks.” Rynn covers her nose. “Let’s go to my place to wash up. We have shirts you can borrow.”
