Page 27 of Things We Hide from the Light
“Angel.” I punched the wall again.
She’d come hard and long. The kind of orgasm that would leave her limp enough for me to pick her up and carry her to bed afterward. The kind that would give me no choice but to follow her down, emptying myself inside her. Marking her as mine.
But instead of the release I chased, I found something else.
My vision tunneled, the sound of the shower dulled as blood roared in my ears. My heart thudded wildly in my chest as the band of tension tightened. I released my cock and dragged in a shaky breath, fighting the pressure, fighting the wave of terror that crashed over me.
“Fuck. Fuck,” I rasped. “Goddammit.”
My knees buckled and I managed to lower myself into the tub.
Still hard. Still wanting. Still afraid. I put my hands on my head and knelt under the stream of water until it went cold.
SIX
THE MIDDLE OF A PISSING CONTEST
Lina
The Knockemout Public Library was housed across the hall from the police department in the Knox Morgan Municipal Building, a name that was the source of endless entertainment for me.
I snapped a picture of the bold, gold lettering and fired it off in a text to the man, the grump, the legend himself.
Knox’s response was immediate. A middle finger emoji.
With a grin, I put my phone away and headed inside.
The building had been largely funded by a hefty “donation” that came from the lottery winnings Knox had tried to force on Nash. It was, in my opinion, an expert-level “fuck you.”
Apparently, it had also driven a wedge between the brothers, one that had been reinforced by inherited stubbornness and subpar family communication.
Not that Knox and I had shared any heart-to-hearts in all our years of friendship. We kept things light, didn’t burden each other with the heavy stuff. Didn’t try to bring things into the light for useless examination.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how you made a relationship last.
No burdens. No emotional baggage.
Keep your needs few and your quality time fun.
With this in mind, I made a specific pointnotto peer through the glass into the police station. I wasn’t prepared to make small talk with the chief of police mere hours after hearing him bringing himself to climax in the shower one not-so-soundproofed wall away.
Just thinking about it had my cheeks heating, my downtown fluttering.
I’d never stood at a sink brushing my teeth for that long in my life.
One thing was certain, Chief Morgan was a ticking time bomb. And whoever this Angel was, I hoped I wouldn’t have to hate her.
I headed into the library. It was busier and louder than I expected. Thanks to Drag Queen Story Hour, the children’s section had the energy of a preschool at snack time. Kids and adults alike listened with rapt attention as Cherry Poppa and Martha Stewhot read about diverse families and adopting pets.
I stayed and listened for an entire book before remembering I was on a mission.
I found Sloane Walton, librarian extraordinaire, on the second floor in the stacks arguing about something bookish with the elderly yet fashionable Hinkel McCord.
Sloane was unlike any librarian I’d known. She was a petite spitfire with lavender-tinted platinum-blond hair. She dressed like a cool teenager, drove a souped-up Jeep Wrangler, and hosted a monthly Booze and Books Happy Hour. From what I had gathered, she had single-handedly turned the failing Knockemout Public Library into the heart of the community through grit, determination, and a number of grants.
There was something about her that reminded me of the nice, cool girls in high school. I’d once been a member of that exclusive club.
“All I’m saying is give Octavia Butler a try. And then come back with apology flowers and tequila because you’re dead wrong,” she told the man.
