Page 39 of The Last Call Home
Silence.
I let that hang in the air like bad perfume.“Sure.Let’s do that.She’ll have lots of opinions about whatever you need to discuss.”
Cassian flinches like he’s just remembered who Rosalinda is.
“You live with your mom?”he asks, baffled.“Didn’t she have a house in?—”
“That house is under renovations,” I mutter, already regretting everything about this morning, including my yellow pants.
Malerick snorts.“For the past two years.”
“Yeah, and she’s not exactly the best roommate either.”I don’t mention the incense rituals or how she sings to her houseplants.“Nosy, loud, and naggy.Pick up your socks, Lilah.”
Cassian chuckles.“Fine,” he concedes, rubbing a hand over his face.“I’ll see you up in my apartment?—”
“No.I’ll text you an address,” Malerick interjects, gaze cutting through the moment with a quiet conviction.His voice isn’t loud, but there’s a tension to it—like each word has been chosen, measured, and locked in place.“There’s a place outside of town.Neutral ground.Just make sure no one knows about it.”
“Great,” I mutter.“Nothing says transparency like cloak-and-dagger rendezvous in the middle of nowhere.”
Cassian grins.“Now you’re getting it.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if this is worth it.”The words slip out before I can filter them.Half sarcasm.Half genuine existential crisis.
Cassian doesn’t miss a beat.“Oh, I’ll make it worth it.”He turns to Malerick with a look that walks the line between challenge and invitation.“As long as he’s not protesting.”
Malerick doesn’t blink.Doesn’t flinch.Just crosses his arms like he’s shielding a truth he refuses to say out loud.His gaze lingers on me too long—like he’s working through something.Like maybe he is protesting.Silently.Internally.Loud enough to drown us all if he ever lets it slip.
Cassian claps his hands once, like we’re done here.“If that’s all, I’m heading to check on the good Dr.Moreau.Need my physical.”
Then he winks.He tosses it like confetti, then adds, “You two should get that too.Clean bill and all.I hate prophylactics, if you know what I mean.”
And just like that, he disappears.No shame.No filter.Probably no boxers under those jeans either, if I’m being honest.
I blink after him, then turn to Malerick, voice low even though no one’s around to hear the words claw their way out of my mouth.“Did he just send us to ...”I trail off, jaw twitching.I can’t say it.Not even in a whisper, and to call them prophylactics.What is this, the early 1900s?“He’s too forward,” is all I manage to say.
Mal tilts his head like he’s trying to decide if I’m amused or scandalized.
“He’s a lot like you,” he says, voice a quiet scrape against my skin.Like he’s known all along and was waiting for me to catch up.Like ‘Sweetheart, you just found your match.’
“You can still say no,” he adds.“He plays a dangerous game.”
“Seems like he’ll be delivering,” I mutter, my pulse kicking up at the mere suggestion.“I’m ready to be screaming his name—if he’s good.”
Mal doesn’t flinch.Doesn’t rise to the bait.He just stands there, all controlled and shit, in a world built on temptation.
“There’s always a cost, Del.”He says it like it’s a warning, like it’s a confession.“The question is if you’re willing to pay it.”
Then he turns.
Just turns.
Like we didn’t just dangle sex, secrets, and something that feels way too much like a challenge between us.
“What about your coffee?”I call after him, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel.
He glances back.Briefly.Barely.
“I’ve got instant coffee at the station.”
