Page 158 of Mate
I feel obscenely guilty. I think about it for the rest of the day, through the steady stream of visitors whose names I barely remember, and hardly sleep overnight. “That’s ideal,” Misery says, exchanging a mutually distrustful look with Twinkles. Ana decided that if he wants, he should be allowed indoors, and who was I to tell her no? Hopefully, Koen won’t mind that he’s fully moved into his room. “Since I’m here. We can spend our time making fun of Were Alphas and the sticks up their asses together.”
Koen doesn’t return until the following afternoon, when Ana is at the local airport with Amanda, waiting for Lowe to land. Misery is asleep in Koen’s closet, and I almost step on her when I go to steal another one of his hoodies. Clearly, it wasn’t just the Heat that made me partial to them.
Then, as I make toast to satisfy my newfound, ravenous appetite, a brilliant idea occurs to me.
The closet would be aspectacularhiding place. I can picture myself calmly talking this through with Koen.I could live under your bed. Have you heard of the concept of “dirty little secret”? Let’s be real, it’s not as though I love hanging out with people lately.
I press the toaster’s lever. Which won’t stay down.
I could hide in there with Twinkles. We could share some tasty bones.
Push.
Read. Sleep. Find some remote finance job and pull my weight.
Push.
I can’t be used against you if no one knows that I exist. So really, this is the best solution for all of us.
Push, push, push, push—
Two things happen in rapid succession. First, the spring mechanism in the toaster gives out. Then the door opens. When I whirl around, Koen is at the entrance. His eyes linger on my face for a moment, then flick to my fingers.
Which are still grasping the lever.
Which has fallen off.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I blurt out, feeling caught red-handed, even more than when Misery saw me draw hearts around Mr. Lumiere’s name.
Koen nods, closing the door behind him. He looks . . .
I want to throw myself at him. I want to bite his neck and squeeze him and inhale his scent so deep, it’ll never leave my lungs. Instead I take in his long-suffering expression and try not to flinch.
“I think your toaster is broken,” I inform him.
“You don’t say.”
“No, I mean— it was brokenbefore.”
“Was it?” His gaze travels to a spot on the counter. I follow it, and . . .
Okay. Fine. The damn toaster wasn’t plugged in, and I have learned nothing. Cool. “You, um, might need a new one,” I say, with all the dignity I can muster. Which is appallingly little. “Because I’m a generous person, I will pay for it.”
“Will you.”
“Yeah. I’ll even go buy it at the store.” I hold out my hand. Why am I close to tears? “Give me the keys to your car.”
“You want to break that, too?”
I wince but stubbornly don’t retract my arm. Koen never gives over his car keys, but he does reach for my hand and pull me into him.
He has held me many times, but never like this— so close, it almost hurts, like he’s trying to swallow me inside his body. “There’s always something with you, huh,” he mumbles, for the fifth or millionth time. And for the fifth or millionth time, I melt into him and forget that there’s a whole shitty world out there.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It comes out muffled against his flannel.
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Everything?”
