Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Stevie
Look, I’ve spent many nights sleeping on couches in random apartments: sometimes friends’ places, sometimes virtual strangers. In the latter, I didn’t do much actual sleeping, but at least I was warm and dry, yeah?
But tonight…
My insides were all in a knot, and I felt almost…drained, maybe? Like, I’d just been through too many emotions in the last half-hour to really understand what I was supposed to be feeling as I dully followed Garrak into his living room.
He’d invited me to stay with him? For two days?
That seemed… Why? Why would he do that, after he’d already made it clear he wasn’t going to accept the offer to have sex with me in order to clear my father’s debt?
There’d been a few moments there when I would’ve absolutely done it, too, and not just because of Dad’s threat.
Confused didn’t begin to cover my state of mind as he gave me a brief tour.
“Kitchen’s through there—you’re welcome to anything in the fridge, I have extra bacon in the freezer.
Donuts are in the bread box, but leave one for me after my run in the morning, yeah?
” He didn’t give me time to answer—this dude went for a run, then ate a donut?
How cute was that?—before pointing in the opposite direction.
“Bathroom’s over there, and the bedroom is through that door.
I’ll switch out the sheets for you, and I can sleep out here—”
With dawning horror I realized his point, and I held up my free palm to interrupt him.
“Whoa, whoa, Mr. Longspear, I’m not going to take your bed.
” Not if he wasn’t going to be sharing it with me and getting this whole mess over with.
“It’s really kind of you to let me stay here. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, and I forced a smile.
“I’m used to the couch, promise.” To prove my point, I crossed the room and dropped my bag beside the sectional, which really was huge, and looked ridiculously comfortable.
“I’ll be fine here.” Since I could tell he still wasn’t convinced, I tried a soft smile.
“This is nicer than what I’m used to, honest.”
That had been the wrong thing to say, judging from the way his jaw hardened. I saw a flicker of rage in his eyes before he turned away. “Fine. Are you hungry?”
“No,” I told him honestly. “I had a sandwich from a fast-food joint on the mainland before I caught the ferry over here. I’m just…”
When he turned his head—not far enough to see his face, just the hard line of his jaw—I supposed he was waiting for me to finish. So I sighed and sank down into the couch cushions.
“Tired?” he supplied.
“Yeah.”
Yeah, I was tired.
Tired of being worried, tired of being confused.
Tired of being manipulated and not knowing what the future would bring and wondering if I’d have enough money to survive.
Just tired.
With a grunt, Garrak stalked to the bedroom, and I thought that was it, until he returned with a set of clean sheets and a pillow. He set it all up without meeting my eye and even seemed a little embarrassed—could orcs blush?—when he laid out a cozy throw quilt on top of the sheets.
“Sorry it’s not full-sized. Well, it might be big enough for you. My mother made it as a lap blanket and—” He bit off his words abruptly. “I’ll turn up the heat.”
My fingertips rested on the worn fabric. “It’s lovely,” I said softly. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Longspear.”
I would be. I’d survived worse—much worse.
Maybe he guessed that, because I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten again as he nodded abruptly. “My name’s Garrak.”
I ducked my chin. “Garrak,” I repeated in a whisper, not sure why I was embarrassed.
“Good girl,” he murmured, before nodding again—in approval?—and limping toward the bedroom.
I watched him go, wondering at his gait, and wondering why his praise made me feel so warm.
This was a strange place, and I didn’t know how safe I was.
That sort of environment does not make for good sleep, yeah?
I fully intended to wait until I didn’t hear Garrak moving around in the other room, then give him an hour to fall asleep…
and then I’d start snooping. I figured there was something in this place I could use to learn about him.
At that point, I still wasn’t sure what I wanted out of him—was I going to manipulate him into fucking me, so Dad’s debt would be paid, and he wouldn’t go to the LeClair brothers?
—or was I looking for a way out of the mess completely?
Either way, I pulled my e-reader out of my backpack, called up the latest romance I’d borrowed from the Orleans Parish library, and settled in for a few hours of reading. I figured by midnight, I could start snooping…
Imagine my surprise when I not only fell asleep but stayed asleep the entire night.
When I opened my eyes, my e-reader was lying across my chest—book girlies get the struggle!—and the light coming through the large window told me it was well past dawn. I felt…comfortable?
No, that wasn’t it. Cozy? Safe.
I laid there in that bed Garrak had made me on his couch, and I realized I’d slept through the night because I’d felt safe.
Huh.
It took me a minute to realize what had woken me; the sound of the shower being turned off.
Garrak must be dressing in the bathroom.
Hastily, I pushed myself upright and set about making my temporary bed.
My palms lingered on the well-loved quilt as I smoothed it out reverently, wondering about his mother.
I thought orcs were relatively new to our world; had his mother come with him and then learned to sew?
This quilt looked much older than a decade…
When the bathroom door opened and Garrak stepped out, I forgot all thoughts about his mother, or even his past.
Because my entire focus was on him, and the delicious way his wet hair curled at his temples, and the drips of water on his throat.
He was wearing only a large white, fluffy towel wrapped around his midsection, and with all those muscles—damn, I don’t think I’d ever seen a chest like his!
—I almost didn’t notice the fact he only had one leg.
With a carefully neutral expression, Garrak nodded to me, shifted his hold on his forearm cane, and swung his weight toward the bedroom.
I watched him go, and I’ll admit that I was only a little bit hoping that his towel might accidentally come undone and fall off in time for me to admire what I knew would be a firm ass.
When the door shut behind him, I shook my head at myself and jumped up to make use of the bathroom.
By the time I emerged in fresh panties, a black t-shirt, and the same pair of jeans—I only had those and the soft yoga pants I’d slept in last night—there was, indeed, bacon cooking in the kitchen. I followed my nose and stopped in the doorway.
Garrak’s back was to me as he stood at the stove. Beside him rested a mug of something that steamed, and a half-eaten donut on a napkin. I’m not sure why the sight of this big male enjoying his morning treat made me smile, but it did.
His hair was still slightly damp, and he wore a ragged t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. They allowed me to see one bare leg and foot, and where the other one should have been was a metal leg, designed not to look realistic, but for function.
What had happened to him? Last night, I hadn’t guessed he was missing a leg. I realized I knew very little about my mysterious host except that he had a sense of honor, he was sexy as fuck, and he was good at poker. That was it. Maybe I should have tried to stay awake and snoop last night.
“Coffee’s in the pot, if you’re done staring,” he suddenly announced wryly without turning. How had he known I was there? “I made a double batch after my run this morning.”
My brows rose as I crossed to pour myself a cup. “This smells delicious.”
“From the local coffee shop, Beach Beans. Their specialty blend.”
I was trying desperately to pretend an ease I didn’t feel. “Oh yeah, what’s it called? Maybe I’ll pick some up before I head home.” Like I could afford specialty blends.
The way Garrak huffed slightly in what might’ve been amusement told me he didn’t buy my attempts. “Orcin’ Around. It’s my favorite.”
“So…” I twisted the cup in both hands, striving to sound nonchalant. “You…went out? Running?”
“Yeah.” Dark, amused eyes flicked my way. “Difficult to run in here. I mean, I was going to put in a treadmill when the heat starts really getting oppressive this summer, but for now it’d just be in circles, and the Murdicos downstairs already complain about the way I clomp around.”
I found myself smiling at that image. “Running outside makes more sense, you’re right. I just meant…” I sipped my coffee, not sure how to finish that thought.
He flipped the bacon he was monitoring, and shifted so his hip was against the counter, opening his stance to include me. “You meant what?”
My gaze locked on the black liquid in my mug, I shrugged. “You left me alone here while you went running?”
“You were safe here, sweetheart.”
What? My eyes jerked up to see his sympathetic expression. That’s what he thought I’d meant?
I cleared my throat. “I meant…you trusted me? Here alone? With your stuff?”
The way he huffed slightly out his nose before turning back to the bacon told me he understood. “You think I’m na?ve? Should I not have trusted you?”
“I wouldn’t have,” I whispered to my cup of specialty blend.
“Have you given me a reason not to trust you, Stevie? Have you lied to me?”
I swallowed, the coffee suddenly not sitting well in my stomach. I’d lied to him about my last name. I hadn’t exactly lied about who Trevor Hendricks was to me, but I hadn’t told the truth about him. I hadn’t told the truth about a lot of things, had I?
But why should I? This guy, as hot as he might be, was just a means to an end, right? A way to avoid a world of pain. Why did I suddenly feel so guilty about lying to him?
Because his praise makes you feel good.
Yeah.