Page 58 of Six
“I gather that from the thousand and one times you told me before.” I snicker.
“I’m going on a wild goose chase for a bloody pack of biscuits and freezing my perfect peach off!” he complains. “Oh, here is the store. I need to go. Please don’t make any life-altering decisions until I’m back. And send pictures,” he quickly adds.
“Of?”
“His gigantic, misbehaving, trouser snake…” And click, I hang up on him. I swear Lori is made of blood, bones, and filthy thoughts.
I twist the key in the door and stop in the small entrance, noticing the alarm is off. Rague must be home. The thought makes my skin tingle all over, even though my brain is telling me to get a grip.
There’s no answer when I call his name. I drop my backpack on a kitchen chair, hating to leave things on thedirtyfloor, and stop dead.
A guy with almond eyes and a head full of thick black hair is sitting on the sofa armrest in the living room, eating baby carrots from the plastic pack.My baby carrots.
“Finally. I thought you’d never end that phone call.” His voice is deep and he sounds irritated, which is ludicrous since I’m pretty sure he forced his way into the house.
“Did you eavesdrop?” I ask, going back over the conversation with Lori to see if I said something incriminating.
“A little bit. Got bored. How do you say…” He stops and squeezes his eyes shut, seemingly trying to remember the right words. I take advantage of his distraction and grab a knife from the dish rack near the kitchen sink.
The guy snaps his fingers and looks at the knife and then at me. There’s not a hint of caution in his eyes, should I feel offended? “Right place, wrong time.”
Does he meanwrong place at the wrong time?
“Who are you? How did you get in?” I raise the knife between us. It’s a steak knife, small but sharp. It could do some damage to the tiny guy.
“The real question is whoyouare. And locked doors never stopped me, never will.” He’s eyeing my body with interest now. Can’t he see the fucking blade I’m brandishing?
“If you think I’ll tell my name to the guy who broke into my house, you must be delusional on top of a criminal.”
“Yourhouse? Really?” He tosses a baby carrot inside his mouth and proceeds to casually chomp on it, making my eye twitch. He doesn’t look afraid of me in the least.
I don’t correct him.
“So, you’re with Rague.”
“Definewith.” This is too surreal. I’m having a conversation with the guy who most certainly wants to rob…wait a minute, he knows Rague?
“I thought he was only into paying for sex. But you don’t look like a gigolo.” He looks down at himself. “Then again, looks can be…betraying?”
I frown at his wording. “Deceiving?”
“Yeah, that.”
Let’s rewind.Gigolo? Rague pays for sex? That can’t be right?Right?He can have anyone…
Then I remember his ambivalence about being touched. The way he expects me to follow his orders when we fuck. The no kissing rule. His hesitancy the first time we did.
The sound of crunching paper from the kitchen makes me turn around. The fridge door is wide open and the guy is clawing at a bar of dark chocolate. How did he move without me noticing?
“Can you stop stealing food?” He’s like a feral squirrel.
“Sorry, my blood sugar is low. Do you guys have any sweet potato?”
“No. But…if you tell me your name and what the hell you’re doing here, I’ll show you where the honey jar is.”
He huffs with what sounds like frustration. “There’s nothing I can’t find. But I’m exhausted, and you’ll hear my name as soon as Rague comes lumbering through that door. I’m Clover. Like the lucky plant.”
“The wild weed,” I deadpan.
