21. Willa / Greer
CHAPTER 21
WILLA / GREER
H and in hand, we head back to River’s room after dinner. I keep expecting someone to stop us and make me return to my room, but no one does. River is right. They must be watching us. There’s no way they would allow new people to roam around the place. I wouldn’t, and they’re a government group housing a bunch of people with what I’m sure is an alarming list of powers. Watching comes with the job.
River’s room is identical to mine, and it makes me grimace. All the white is stressing me out. It’s too sterile. I feel like a rat in a lab waiting for the door to the maze to open up so I can get the cheese.
River walks over to the bed and fingers the folded clothes sitting on top. “Someone’s been here. I left these clothes lying on the floor earlier, and yet here they are, washed and folded for me. It’s an invasion of privacy, and I hate it.” He picks them up and tosses them into one of the dresser drawers.
“I wonder if Raven’s headquarters is similar to this one,” I say, speculating whether all government facilities lack personality. Probably. With no chairs in the room, I kick off my shoes and sit criss-cross applesauce on the bed.
River joins me on the bed, his back to the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, then pats the spot next to him. I move to his side.
Since the moment we met, I’ve felt comfortable enough to fall asleep next to him multiple times—the semi-truck, in Jordan’s apartment, and on that old leather couch in the warehouse. Biting my lip, I stare at him. Why does a bed suddenly make me nervous?
His thumb reaches out and pulls my lip from my teeth. “I don’t want to be in this room or this place without you. When you’re not here, all I want to do is find you. With you here beside me, all I want to do is run away and find someplace safe for the two of us to hide.”
“That sounds so good,” I admit with a sigh.
If only I hadn’t killed Trent, but I did. I’m not sure there is anywhere safe for me to hide except here. Hightower and Raven will never stop looking for me. I want to tell River, but murder is a huge burden to put on someone else’s shoulders.
His bright green eyes search mine, and whatever he sees makes him sad for a second, but his lips quickly lift in a smile. “All this free time. What should we do?”
Heat steals across my cheeks in a raging blush as my thoughts go back to the theater. Why do I feel like a teenager dreaming of her first kiss? I’m twenty-three, damn it. His eyebrow rises high, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and that makes it worse.
His chuckle is low and full of the same needy desire, but he shakes his head. “Stop, you’re killing me. I promised sleep, and I’m going to stick to my word. Besides, my control only goes so far, and you in this bed is a temptation I’m not sure I can resist.”
“Was it real?” I murmur, almost convinced the kiss was a dream. It had been that good.
“It was real,” he said, leaning closer. “And when you’re not exhausted and overwhelmed, I’m going to kiss you again to prove it.” He picks up my hand and entwines his fingers with mine. “We need something to distract your dirty mind before you make me forget my good intentions.”
My mouth drops open in surprise. Then, I decide a comment like that deserves a little punishment, and scoot in close, allowing my lips to hover an inch above his. “Twenty questions it is. I’ll go first. Tell me about your… first kiss.”
He groans. “You fight dirty, too.” He lifts his other hand and sweeps the hair back from my neck before he glides his finger down the side of my neck. “So do I.” While his finger continues its path, he proceeds to answer.
“My first kiss was in kindergarten,” he says in a low voice. “She was five and a half, and I was five. Her name was Margaret O’Connell. She had red hair and green eyes, and I thought she was the prettiest girl in our class. At recess, I announced to everyone, including her, that she was my girlfriend. Then, I stretched up and planted a kiss on her cheek.”
My lips twitch. “Older and taller. Was that your type?”
“And wiser. She proceeded to pop me in the eye,” he reveals with a laugh. “Nobody warned me about redheads, but I learned quick. Never kissed another.”
Laughing, I wink at him. “Good thing I don’t have red hair.”
His finger moves up and entwines a piece of my hair. “I’m not sure it would have mattered.” The tension between us increases a notch. “Your turn. First kiss.”
I twist my lips. “My story isn’t as good as yours. I was in the fourth grade and rode the school bus. So did this guy, Clay, who was a sophomore in high school who I had the biggest crush on. One day, my best friend dared me to kiss him.” I roll my eyes. “I never could resist a dare. As I was getting off the bus, I bent down and kissed his cheek, then ran off.”
“A sophomore. Wow, you liked them really old,” he says with a wink. “I might be way too young for you.”
“Ha, ha,” I mutter with a smile. “Obviously, I didn’t think through the repercussions. Clay laughed it off, but the kids on the bus were ruthless about it. Thankfully, he got his driver’s license shortly after and never rode the bus again.” Funny thing, though. I never regretted it.
“That was a great story,” he insists with a laugh. “Okay. Back to the questions. Favorite color.”
“Blue. Well, turquoise,” I tell him.
“Mine is purple. Any shade,” he says in return, releasing my lock of hair. “You pick the next question.”
Yawning, I scoot down on the bed and wait for him to join me. “Favorite or first pet,” I say a minute later.
His eyes find me, and there’s a wealth of sadness in them. “Frankie, my dog. He was the best. Definitely not a purebred. Short, with fur in a million different colors. We got him from the shelter when I was ten.”
“Did he die?” I ask tentatively.
“Worse,” he replies with a heavy sigh. “When we went on the run, I had to leave him behind. My mom took him to a friend of hers who had a farm. I loved him so much. They emailed her pictures of him every once in a while, but I couldn’t bear to look at them. She said he looked happy, though.” There’s a raspiness to his voice that makes me wish I’d asked another question.
Without a word, I roll over and wrap my arms tightly around him. The sweet scent of him washes over me. “I’m sorry.” The hurt in his voice is still there after all these years. He really loved Frankie.
He rests his chin on top of my head. “How about you?”
“Never had a pet,” I tell him. “My mom was allergic. Honestly, I was a girly-girl. All I wanted was Barbies and pink sparkly things.” It was true. My room looked like a pink glitter bomb had gone off in it.
His hand rubs down my arm. “Ever been in a serious relationship?”
“No,” I answer slowly. “My parents died when I was sixteen. In a car crash.” I pause, wanting to tell him the truth. “They were murdered. Lionel said my dad waited too long to get us to safety. Someone ran us off the road. I lived. They didn’t.”
“Raven?” he asks tentatively, squeezing me tighter.
I shrug but bury myself in the feel of his lean arms holding me and the scent of honeysuckle on his skin. “I guess. Lionel didn’t say for sure, but my dad did have the ability to manipulate air.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Anyway, I had a hard time getting close to anyone for a long time,” I finish with the answer to his question. Until you , I think, but don’t say the words. His hand moves from my arm to my back, and as the soothing motion continues, my eyes droop. This has been the longest day ever.
“I understand. You’re the first person I’ve gotten close to, too,” he admits with a yawn, making me smile at his blunt honesty. “I’m tired. How about you?”
When I nod, he reaches down and pulls the covers over us, then pulls me back into his arms. “Sweet dreams.” The ghost of his lips drift across the top of my head, and I smile at the warmth that the simple gesture leaves in its wake.