8. HOUSEWARMING
I’d planned to spend my day off at the Bitters’ End, keeping clear of Donovan’s airspace as his bad mood rolled through the week. I didn’t know what bothered him most: the boredom, the isolation, or the guilt from his shared responsibility for a half dozen lives lost. I’d offered a shoulder to cry on but, since blaming me for his problems seemed to be his chosen coping mechanism, it was better to stay out of his way.
When I’d told Nash my intentions and let slip about my cat-gnawed arm, he insisted on coming to me instead. Donovan had gone out for a walk, and I was grateful for his absence as I pushed the screen door open and allowed Nash admittance to the houseboat’s interior cabin.
He walked in, wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. His boots thumped the floor as he came to a stop and held out a bottle of whiskey, dangling it before me like a worm on a hook .
“Housewarming gift,” he said. As I grabbed for it, he pulled it back and gave me a look of warning. “ Not an excuse not to visit.”
“Understood.” I took the bottle and tucked it in the crook of my elbow, which drew Nash’s attention to my gauze-wrapped left wrist.
His gaze lingered on my arm, too pensive for my liking. “It wasn’t just a bite, was it?” he asked.
So, I’d downplayed it a little, but detailing the attack would have only worried him. With less bartending work to keep him occupied, Nash had made a hobby of nosing into my business. I wasn’t used to having someone paying such close attention, especially someone who could see through my bravado like it was as holey as a piece of Swiss cheese.
“I’m fine.” I stepped away from him, opening a cabinet and shelving the whiskey inside. “The investigators handled it.”
Behind me, Nash shifted from side to side. “The same investigators who have a stock of antimagic dog collars, an entire witch-proof prison, and yet don’t bother to dispel their interrogation rooms?”
I shrugged off a growing feeling of discomfort. “I guess.”
He huffed a breath. “Maybe they’ll rethink that now.”
Glancing over, I found his face stormy. His brows drew down over his eyes as he looked off at a distant nothing.
I cleared my throat. “Hey, I don’t want to talk about work on my day off, so…” I stepped back in the scarce op en space and gestured to the room around us. “This is the place.”
As soon as I said it, I realized I should have spent last night picking up instead of sprawling uselessly on the couch.
Nash’s expression returned to neutral as he surveyed the open cereal box spilling onto the counter, blankets piled haphazardly on the bed, and empty beer and energy drink cans filling the sink.
Since my rage cleaning effort earlier in the week, the state of things had gradually declined. Life in a motel taught Donovan and me to expect occasional housekeepers. They picked up after us, fluffed our pillows, and emptied the waste bins. I’d be lying to say I didn’t miss those niceties. In fact, as outdated as Lazy Daze had been, it had a leg up on the old boat. I was keenly aware of the shabby furnishings and clutter better suited to a dumpsite than a home. I meant to clean, and cook food that didn’t come from a can, and do all the domestic shit that was simultaneously familiar and foreign, but it had proven a struggle just to keep milk in the fridge.
“It’s a little cramped.” Blush burned my cheeks.
Nash walked past and stopped in the narrow aisle between the bed and the couch. “No problem,” he said. “We’ll just have to get close.”
Pushing aside the wadded blanket and pillow, he cleared a place to sit, then patted the cracked vinyl seat beside him.
With a sly grin, I climbed onto the couch. I swung a leg over his lap, straddling him on bent knees .
He gently grabbed my gauze-wrapped arm, then stared at it for a long, quiet moment before asking, “Are you sure you’re okay? Two days is a long healing process with magic involved.”
“Word is I’ll get some cool scars out of it,” I said.
I’d also been told I narrowly dodged long-term nerve damage and risked losing my hand entirely or dying of traumatic blood loss.
Nash gingerly placed my hand on his chest while silence swelled between us. My answers didn’t satisfy him, but pressing the issue would turn a nice moment into a fight, and neither of us wanted that.
The houseboat shifted and swayed with the water that lapped against the hull, and suddenly that gentle rock seemed to slow. Beams of afternoon sun cast golden ribbons across everything, but I noticed them most on Nash’s face. He wore a soft smile and the dimples that were almost hidden by his beard. With the light warming everything red and gold and gorgeous about him, I thought I might melt.
Neither of us spoke while I stared, studying features I knew well but didn’t always appreciate.
The quiet lingered long enough for Nash to ask, “What’s on your mind, Trouble?”
It was a welcome invitation to change the subject, and one I didn’t hesitate to accept. “Ripley says you talk about me.”
Surprise widened his eyes, then they slowly softened. “A bit,” he confessed.
“A lot.” Moving my good hand to his shirt collar, I started thumbing the buttons through their holes .
“Okay. A lot.” His smile betrayed the slightest hint of embarrassment.
I nuzzled into the exposed hollow of his throat where his body heat warmed my face. “What kinds of things do you say?” I murmured.
“Someone’s fishing for compliments.” Nash leaned his head all the way back, inviting me in.
“Or harsh truths.” I dragged my tongue past his Adam’s apple. “You could’ve told him I take too long in the bathroom, or snore, or some shit.”
Pushing his shirt open, I smoothed my hand over the subtle dips and curves of his torso. Softly defined abs led down to the thin trail of hair that disappeared below his belt line. I kept touching, tempting us both until Nash gripped my hips and pulled me forward.
“I told him…” He paused, and I sat back on his thighs, watching the theater of his face. “That I can’t get enough of you. I think about you when I’m alone at night.”
Grinning, I shimmied against him, feeling his erection pressing into my crotch.
His smile returned as he continued. “I remember what you feel like in bed with me. Beside me. Beneath me…”
My stomach flipped, and I turned away from his gaze. The once cozy warmth had become hot, and sweat trickled down my spine.
Nash drew me in, pressing his chest against mine. His breath rushed across my ear as he whispered, “I may have also mentioned that waking up beside you was the best part of my day.” He placed a kiss on my cheek before I shoved him away, laughing.
“Gross.”
“Gross?” he echoed, incredulous. “How is that gross?”
I sat straight and spread my hands in the air in a dramatic pantomime. “I can picture it now. Poor Rip trying to drink in peace while you’re laying it on thick with the mushy bullshit.”
Nash’s brows drew together.
“You’d better cut it out,” I teased. “You can’t afford to lose any more customers.”
Behind me, the door opened, flooding the space with blinding sun. I felt like a vampire shrinking away as Donovan burst in.
“Fitch!” he blurted, then seemed to register the scene he’d walked in on. “Oh hey, Nash.”
“Hi, Donnie,” came the chuckled reply.
Grumbling, I rolled off Nash’s lap and reached down to adjust myself. “Does a sock on the doorknob mean nothing to you?”
Donovan’s dark hair was windblown and his cheeks were flushed pink. “I need you to come out here,” he said breathlessly. “It’s important.” Typical of him to give me shit for days then expect me to drop everything and jump the moment he asked.
“ This is also important.” My gesture to Nash’s bare chest sparked pain in my bandaged arm. I fought a grimace.
Donovan sighed loudly. “Would you just come outside?”
Nash’s move to standing meant the moment was officially over. He buttoned his shirt as I reluctantly dragged myself to answer my brother’s summons.
On the deck, the hot sun and cool breeze made for a queasy combination. My skin went clammy, and I shielded my eyes from the brightness that assaulted me from all sides. After a brief moment of standing and squinting, Nash exited through the door behind me. He slipped an arm around my waist and sidled up close to steady me.
“Better slow down. Your color’s all wrong.” He brought his other hand around to sweep the hair off my suddenly sweaty brow.
I’d spent the twenty-four hours since the transfusion sleeping and dumping painkillers into an empty stomach. It was the furthest thing from the doctor’s orders, but I’d survived this long without the intervention of Capitol healers, and I saw no need to change. Why treat your body like a temple when you could ride it like a rollercoaster?
“Cool scars,” I reminded Nash, then pushed away from him.
On the dock, Donovan gestured emphatically to the cause of the commotion. Maggie stood in the shade of a black lace parasol. She looked down at her patent Mary Jane shoes while clicking her heels together. It reminded me of Dorothy wishing to go home, and it seemed the zombie girl was similarly lost.
I channeled all my energy into keeping my balance as I walked forward and descended the steps onto the dock. Before I reached my brother and Maggie, I glanced around, checking to see if Ripley was lurking nearby .
“She’s alone,” Donovan said in answer to my unspoken question.
Squinting against the sun, I frowned at my brother. “So, call Ripley and tell him she’s here. He’s probably worried.”
Judging from Maggie’s nonchalance, she wasn’t. Turning to the pigtailed teenager, I extended my arm. “Hey there, sweetheart.”
Maggie perked up and beamed a toothy grin. She trotted over to me, tucking into the bend of my elbow and raising her parasol over both of our heads.
“How’d you get all the way out here, huh?” I whispered to her, knowing full well I would get no answer.
Nash came down and closed the gap to us. “We should get her inside.” He cast a wary glance at the other boats in their slips. “We’re causing a bit of a scene out here.”
“I did call Ripley,” Donovan said in response to my earlier question. “He didn’t answer.”
I huffed a breath. “Then text him. Nobody wants to talk on the phone these days.”
“Texted, too,” Donovan said.
Pressing my palm to my face failed to lessen the pain of an oncoming migraine. “Sounds like you’ve got it handled. What did you need me for?”
Donovan’s cheeks puffed. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
Everyone looked at the zombie girl who stood with her head lolled back, staring up through the canopy of her parasol .
“Maybe we can take her home,” Nash offered. “See if Rip’s there?”
“Either of you know where he’s staying these days?” I asked. A glance around generated blank stares in response. My focus returned to the Goth girl tucked against me.
“Hey, Mags.” I jostled her. “How about I give you a ride home?”
She met my gaze, and her crimson eyes crinkled in an eager smile.
“You’re not driving,” Nash cut in. “Not like this.”
His head-to-toe wave over me called attention to my current state. My clothes were wrinkled, hair tangled; I was barefoot and in need of a shower. Aesthetics aside, it felt like a rubber mallet was pounding at my temples, and all this standing and moving around had stirred nausea in my gut.
“I can drive,” Donovan offered.
“Someone should stay in case Ripley shows up,” Nash said. “Do you mind, Donnie?”
“You don’t need me to do what a note on the door could.” The set of my brother’s stance made him look ready to take off down the dock. To his car or straight into the ocean, I didn’t care.
“A note’s a good idea,” Nash replied. “Put one up, then meet us at my car.”
Donovan’s expression shifted to one of smug satisfaction.
I rolled my eyes. “Be quick about it, would you? I don’t want this to take all day.”