Page 13 of Unmasked Rivalry
“You want me to come look?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe? I just don’t want to, like, die in my sleep.”
“Yeah, you sound like you’re on death’s door,” he says, dry. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
I hang up. My finger is starting to throb, purple and swollen at the tip. I have the sudden urge to Google “spider bite necrosis” but stop myself, because I’ll only psych myself out more. Instead, I sit on the porch and alternate between staring at my hand and at the cows in the paddock, who look unfazed by the entire ordeal.
Knox shows up exactly seventeen minutes later, because of course he does, and he’s wearing sunglasses and a tight black tee, no leather jacket, and I can’t help but notice the way it clings to his large, muscled body. He stops at the top of the steps, looking down at my hand.
“Let’s see it,” he says, and I hold out my finger. He holds my hand in both of his, and for a second, I’m weirdly aware of how warm his skin is, how close his knuckles are to mine.
He inspects it like a real doctor, turning my wrist, squinting at the bite.
“Show me the nest.”
I stand, walking into the house, and he follows. I point to the sink, and he goes over, studying it.
“It’s not a brown recluse, and you’re not going to die. It’s just a shitty house spider. It will hurt for a couple of hours, then be good.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I live here,” he points out.
Right.
“That all you need?” he finally says, as if he can’t wait to get out of here.
My belly sinks a little.
“There was a guy this morning, came over, was talking about cattle, but he was asking weird questions.”
This grabs his interest. “He give you a name?”
“Ralston or something like that.”
“Ralston Cupp,” he mutters. “Fuckin’ bad news. He shows up again, you tell me.”
My heart tightens. “He was asking weird things, like if I was alone here. Now he knows I sleep in my car, I’m not really very happy about that.”
He sighs, and then without another word, he walks right past me. “C’mon then,” he calls. “I’ll help you fix up a room so you can sleep inside. Even if it means I die of black mold.”
He doesn’t wait for me to argue. I go after him, and for the next hour, we clean the room I already mostly did when I got here. He fixes all the holes, ensuring nothing can sneak in at night, and goes into town, getting a new window to replace the broken one. I scrub walls and floors, washing every surface, and when it’s done, it actually looks kind of homely.
“Didn’t think we could actually get this place lookin’ good,” Knox murmurs, his shirt stuck to his body with sweat.
Then, he reaches for the hem and pulls it over his head, leaving me staring, completely stunned.
Knox is all muscle and ink, and for a second I’m reduced to just staring, unable to look away. I’ve seen bodies before. I’ve even seen good ones, defined abs and arms chiseled out of summer work, but nothing like this. He is a walking canvas. Blackwork bands spiral up both arms. There’s a crow on his chest ripping apart a cherry, and a coil of thorns circles his waist, vanishing under his belt.
He is pure perfection.
He wipes his forehead, catches me looking, and his mouth quirks very slightly. Not smug, not quite, but knowing. “Gonna keep starin’ or you wanna help me fill this air mattress.”
I snap back to myself, cheeks humming with heat. “It’s just you have a... lot of tattoos,” I blurt, instantly regretting the words.
He snorts, leaning down to attach the pump to the bed. He fills it with air, effortlessly, then stands up straight again, stretching. I look away this time. He shoves the garbage bag out the door and slings his shirt over his shoulder. “Got a mini fridge you can use while you’re here, and I’ll bring you some sheets.”
“Thank you,” I say, because it’s all I can manage.
