Page 40 of Pretty Broken Wings
I frown, glancing in the clock’s direction. “Yeah?”
“Ohhhh,” Raven says. I realize then that the clock is around the corner, and Raven probably can’t see it. Fucking sighted people.
“I’ve never seen one in real life.”
I blink, then clear my throat. “It’s on the desk by the hallway.”
Raven gets up, and I see the movement as she goes to check it out. After a minute, she asks, “How does it work?”
I glare in her direction. “You wind it.”
There’s a pause. “So, how does it stay accurate?”
I blink. What the hell does she mean?
“Like, what if you don’t wind it and it gets behind? It won’t be accurate.”
I see movement as she comes back to the couch.
“You don’t have to like the clock.” Automatically, I reach my hand down to pet Buddy, but she isn’t there. She’s next to Raven. I clench my hand.
“It’s not that I don’t like it! I’m just curious.”
“Buddy, come here.” I pat the couch. I need my dog by me. For a second, I don’t think she’ll come, and my heart drops. But then I hear the click of her toenails, and then her warm body is at my knees. I bury my hands in her fur, instantly feeling better.
Raven’s voice softens. “I’ve only read about them in books.”
I struggle to remember what she’s talking about. “The clock?”
“Yeah.”
Papers rustle, and then she starts working again. I try my best to focus, but for some reason, I can’t.
Raven likes to read? I fucking love reading. I wish I could read physical books more easily, but I have audiobooks on disks. It reminds me of when Mom used to read books to us before we went to bed every night. I loved it.
I try to shake myself out of it. Who cares that Raven likes to read? I sure don’t. She’s toxic, and I don’t want anything to do with her.
After lunch, Raven gets up, and I hear the swish of her clothes and the clink of dishes. Then she’s in front of me, and her soft smell washes over me like a rough embrace. Despite myself, I suck in a breath.
“You done with this?”
I blink to focus. She must be talking about the plate I have balanced on the side of the couch.
I clear my throat, “I’ll get it.”
“I’m already going to the kitchen.” There’s movement, and then her hand brushes against mine. It’s a soft movement, andher skin is both warm and dry. She’s not tugging or yanking. Her fingers just rest on mine as she grabs the plate, and for that brief second, all my hairs stand on end, and electricity runs through me.
Then, she takes the plate and leaves.
My whole body trembles, and I want to follow her. To feel her softness again. To touch more of her.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
We work late into the night, and while I try to focus, I wonder if Raven meant to touch me. If she felt the same connection I did. I wonder what she’d feel like under me. Or, fuck, on top of me. Raven doesn't seem to be the kind of woman who likes to be told what to do in the bedroom.
Or does she?
