Page 36 of EverGreene
I reached across the bed, ashamed of myself for how disappointed I was to find nothing but a cold pile of sheets where he’d lain after rolling over to hold me while I’d fallen asleep. If the man was, in fact, a serial killer, he was a considerate one, at least. Always making sure I got off first, breaking into my car to perform basic, potentially life-saving, maintenance, quietly stalking me to make sure no one else was stalking me. Chivalry at its finest.
No. Insane, Ever. This whole thing was all kinds of batshit insane.
Yet, I can’t say I didn’t kind of dig it.
Reluctant to move a muscle, I sat up on my bed and grabbed my phone from my nightstand to find a disappointing number of text messages from V—that number being zero. Was this all there was between us? Random nights of steamy sex and gifts occasionally delivered to my door? It could be worse, I suppose. Lord knows I’d certainly had worse. Worse was the whole reason why I was even here right now. Which, if you really thought about it, my life was more ironic than anything in any song sung by Alanis Morissette. But, as much as it was probably for the best that V keep himself at an emotional distance, there was still something about him that made me crave a little romance to go along with all the misdemeanors.
The headboard squealed when I leaned back on the bed, noticing for the first time that one of the vertical brass bars connecting the top of the headboard to its base had been broken and was now leaning awkwardly at an angle between the two sides of the bed. The bed itself was nowhere near broken, but that wouldn’t stop me from telling people that I’d once broken my bed during sex.
Housed in my hamper in the corner of my room were a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt proclaimingI’m a Hoe for Joe in the Morning,scribbled on a cup of coffee with a rising sun in the background. I slipped them on and grabbed my phone, seriously contemplating texting V but not wanting to come across as desperate or needy. Maybe he would even begin to wonder whether I was stalking him. Would that be too stalkery?
Jesus Christopher Christ, Esquire, Ever. Get a goddamn grip. Besides, everyone knows it’s not stalking, unless…
I let out a shriek when I turned the corner, running into a very tall, solid mass of muscle. V took a step back, holding up his hands. “Holy shit! How are you so quiet? I thought you left and…” My eyes wandered to the screen of the phone in his hand. “Why are you Googling how much to feed a painted turtle?”
“It was getting late, and I figured Vinny might be getting hungry. He kept following me in his aquarium no matter where I moved.”
A glance behind V at Vinny’s aquarium revealed no lies detected. My traitorous turtle was intently paddling for dear life, staring at V as though he, too, had just had his insides destroyed by the giant man before us.
“I see how it is, Judas,” I said, grabbing Vinny’s pellets from the shelf underneath his stand and shaking out a few of them inside the aquarium. “Don’t forget who kept you from becoming a pancake in the middle of the road.”
“That was a little harsh, wasn’t it?” V stood watching me with what I would be willing to bet was a smirk above that strong, defined jawline of his. “It’s not Vinny’s fault I’m irresistible to reptiles and women alike.”
“Irresistible?” I scoffed. “That’s a bold statement from a man who’s too afraid to show his face to a woman.”
“And that’s quite the shirt to be wearing while trying to intimidate basically anyone.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Yeah, well, it’s laundry day.” V stared at me, more likely than not internally laughing his ass off. “I thought you left.” My hands flew up in the air in response to the level at which I had raised my voice.
“I did, but I came back.” He nodded at a Styrofoam container on my table. “Breakfast. French toast with eggs, over-easy, and a side of toast on white bread.”
“From Duke’s on the corner of Fifth and Washington?”
“Where else?”
I stared in disbelief at the container. How long had he been watching me to confidently know what my go-to breakfastorder was from one of my favorite greasy spoon joints in town?
“You forgot the strawberry jam.”
“Did I?”
My fingers reached for the container, pulling it across the table. It produced a crackling sound when I opened it to reveal a couple of packages of jam tucked inside. From across the table, V feigned blowing on his nails and polishing them against his chest.
“You aren’t eating? Or don’t masked men with some weird kind of savior complex eat breakfast?”
“I’d like to, but I have something going on tonight, and I need to leave to meet up with some people.”
“That’s—vague.” I sat down at the table and pulled out the packaging containing a plastic fork and knife, along with the usual napkin and salt and pepper packets. “Is tonight the monthly meeting for the Sexy Avengers or something?”
“I’m not a superhero, Ever. Far from it, actually.”
“You’re a liar, because I remember that kiss reminiscent of Mary Jane Watson and Spider-Man we shared last night. If only you had been hanging upside down.”
“Or it had been raining.”
“Precisely.” I pointed at him with the plastic knife that was about as useless as an 8-track in any car produced after 1982. After dousing the French toast with syrup, I broke off a piece and popped it in my mouth, suppressing a groan when its cinnamon, buttery goodness practically melted on my tongue.
“How is it?” V asked, bearing witness to my near food-induced orgasm.
