Page 43 of Ominous: Part 1
I kind of want to make her squirm, drag out the answer. But instead, as if I’m compelled, as if I couldn’t deny her if I tried, I just tell her the truth. “No.” I wonder what she’d think of my dad. I can tell she’s nervous to meet him, she started bouncing her leg with his voice through my car speakers. Does she not want any kind of permanence? Is she worried she won’t be enough for him? She’ll fail to impress him? What kind of man does she imagine raised someone like me?
I see relief in the set of her shoulders, even though she tries to keep her expression blank.
Smiling, I nod my head toward the hallway which leads to the foyer which leads to the dining room, which leads… who fucking cares. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
Thunder rumbles outside, and the rain hasn’t let up. I wonder if it will in time for me to take her to eat or something. My low-profile tires aren’t great in rain, but it’s the risk that makes the reward. Driving too fast, taking a turn over the speed limit, slipping and sliding on wet pavement, it does something to me. Maybe it’ll do something to her, too.
As she follows, I lead the way through the foyer, the massive double doors in the entranceway. Thinking of her meeting Dad, the memory of the last time Mom was in this house echoes in my head.
Mom and Eden are both very hard to outwardly impress. I wonder what they’d think of each other.
I discard the thought, the memory too, because like many things, it doesn’t matter.
Eden and I come to a stop just before the formal dining room.
She walks past me, and the scent of her—dreamy, in a strange way, soft, like violets—envelopes me, like it did in the car. I could smell her sweat, too, and while it was musky as sweat is, to me, it smelledgood.My nostrils flare as she stops, just in front of me, and I catch the scent of something else. Maybe peaches? Her shampoo?
I want to reach for the clip in her hair and let it all spill down her back.
I don’t move.
I just cross my arms and lean against the doorway as she gazes at the silver table in the living room. Pleated gray chairs, a chandelier of varying shades in the same color hanging overhead, emitting a soft golden glow. Gray tile, curtains, a dresser with a mirror over it that stretches to the ceiling so if you sit in my dad’s seat, you can watch yourself chew steak or pass the potatoes.
I don’t remember the last time we had a meal in here. The silver and white warped bowl in the center of the table is collecting dust, the housekeeper not bothering, flitting through a place for ghosts.
“This is…” Eden trails off and I eye the clip again, keeping her mass of dark hair held up. I want to wind my fingers in the length of it and pull. I want to know how seriously she takes the fantasy she told me about in my car.
I want to know how far we could go.
“A lot,” I finish for her.
She shakes her head, almost like she wants to laugh as she spins around to face me. With my gaze, I trace the loose fit of her shirt, the ouroboros on the silver pendant around her neck as I resist the desire to grace my fingers over my choker, back on after the tournament. Her shirt would rip easily. The choker would take more work.
My dick swells, thinking about it. Her fighting me.
Glancing over her shoulder, toward the curtains pulled closed at her back, seeing a sliver of darkening gray sky, I ask, “Do you want to come upstairs with me?” I gesture down, toward my clothes. “I need to change.”
She arches a brow, disdain, but even in the low lighting, I can see her summer tan turn pink. “Why? Where are we going?” She tries to mask her nerves, but she sounds uneasy.
I kind of like it, throwing her off. I don’t have any definite plans for us, but I wore this between matches and I want something without my sweat on it.
I smile at her, then turn and head upstairs without a word. I know she won’t follow me. There’s a softness to her, wrapped in a sharp edge. She agreed to come watch me wrestle all damn day, and she got nothing out of it. She didn’t even look at her phone. She paid attention. I saw her eyes too, when she caught sight of my bruises at school.
She tries to hide her kindness in barbed wire.
But when I reach the top of the stairs, one hand on the bannister, I glance over my shoulder to see her staring right up at me.
I’ll cut that fucking wire.
* * *
Eden
“Tell me about the vigil. About the girl.” I race up the steps of the playground, humidity thick in the air from the sluggish storm. It still hasn’t passed, and rain pattered on Eli’s windshield as we went through a drive-thru for food before we came here. He’s got the brown bag in his lap, sitting on the border of the mulched area of the park, so dark here I can only see his shadow in the night.
He pulls sweet potato fries from the bag as I stand at the top of the slide, looking down at him.
“I’m currently holding a fast-food vigil. Come join me as we pray over these fries.” He pops them into his mouth, and I know he must be starving after today, but he chews slowly, with his mouth closed, and he didn’t eat in his car at all, so I took the hint and didn’t either.
