Chapter 18 #2
“A second printing of Huckleberry Finn, Heath.”
Who the hell brought treasures like that on vacation? Who brought physical books, period? Wasn’t that what e-readers were for?
“I bring it with me when I travel. Like a lucky talisman for adventure.”
He tried and failed not to laugh. “You want adventure? You?”
If he were a cat, Heath would have puffed into a fully round ball of exasperation. “I happen to be very open to adventure, thank you. I just prefer a little warning before it happens.”
Lips rolled inward, Evan stared at the floor and breathed through several rounds of comebacks he knew wouldn’t land. “Well, mission accomplished for this trip, I think.”
With a huff, Heath focused his attention entirely on the task of managing his wet wardrobe, but the corners of his mouth quivered upward, giving Evan permission to smile. It killed Heath to like him even the littlest bit, but he clearly did.
Enough to kiss him, in fact.
Kiss. Christ, just thinking the word made his mind replay a quick flash of the moment on the boat.
He’d been surprised, the closed-lip attack the last thing he’d expected, but in a breath his instinct kicked in, and it took no effort to bring them up a level.
Heath had opened to him instantly, with a sharp intake of breath and the quietest moan. Tasting of sea salt and peaches.
The lights flickered as they returned to the kitchen. Electricity crackled and popped through the air, and then a bright flash and deafening boom sent them into darkness.
“God fucking dammit!”
Evan let out a surprised laugh at the vehemence and language. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“I’ll have you know, my mother could make the Russian navy blush,” Heath retorted, standing in the doorway with hands on hips.
Evan couldn’t see the details of his face in the darkness, but he knew there was a scowl involved.
It made him laugh harder, then cough. His throat felt like goddamn sandpaper.
“You need tea, with honey and lemon.”
“I hate tea.”
Heath turned on his heel and marched toward the stove. “And somehow I’m still speaking to you. How is your stomach? Can you handle some food?”
He thought about it, then shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
“There’s a roll left over from last night, some fruit, and a bit of jam,” he listed off, head hidden by the refrigerator door. “That’s pretty tame, and you might feel better if you eat a little.”
“Eh, maybe.”
“You should also be resting.”
He was exhausted, but he felt useless just standing there. “I thought you weren’t my mother?”
Heath’s expression softened as he put the armful of leftovers on the counter. “You’re exhausted, Evan. At least sit down.”
“Bossy.”
“Yes.” Heath pointed to the stool opposite the counter. “Sit, stay. Good boy.”
He obeyed with a grunt, hating how relieved his legs felt the moment his weight was off them. “I’m not a dog. Or has your opinion of me changed again?”
A muffled chuckle came from within the cabinet he’d designated for his tea. “You do actually remind me a little of my mother’s stubborn beagle.”
“I bet that’s one handsome beagle.”
“Oh, she’s precious. Mom dresses her in pink with little ribbons on her ears.”
Evan grunted again and crossed his arms. “I could pull that off. I look fucking amazing in pink.”
The hell he did. He’d look like strawberry shortcake.
Heath smiled and lit the propane stove with a match, placing a pot of water on the burner to boil. “I bet you do.”
It overwhelmed him. The care and comfort, familiar yet foreign, stirred emotions he barely recognized and feared acknowledging.
He wanted to tell Heath to cut the shit and go back to bickering, while in the same breath envisioned shoving him against the counter and showing him how thankful he was for the kindness.
What came after the kissing? What other noises did Heath make?
Evan’s hands curled into fists in his lap.
Talk about staying in your lane, this was the wrong side of the entire goddamn highway.
These thoughts didn’t belong in his head.
He reserved these urges for someone soft and curvy, who smelled like honeysuckle or cherry blossom, not a medieval fucking library.
Heath placed a plate in front of him with the roll, spread with butter and jam, sitting in the middle of a fan of peach and mango slices. He added a mug prepared with a tea bag, drizzling honey into it before slowly pouring in the boiling water.
Evan watched this careful preparation with churning emotions that squeezed the sides of his throat. “Nice presentation.”
Heath’s smile was pert. “I’m no Top Chef, but a little pizzazz goes a long way, I think.”
Tears burned at the corners of Evan’s eyes. Why was this fucking with him so much? Not just the attraction, but the attention.
Was it because he’d dedicated so much energy to anger and revenge, he’d ceased to appreciate simple pleasures?
A week ago, he’d have laughed at this tiny plate of scraps prepared in the dark, because last week’s Evan only cared about getting to say “Fuck you. I win.” Now he couldn’t look Heath in the eye for fear he’d kiss him or cry. Maybe both.
“Thank you,” he croaked, and Heath’s smile warmed.
“You’ve gotten some color back. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he lied, because it was easier than explaining something he didn’t even understand himself. Like how the person he’d been when he’d boarded a plane six days ago wasn’t who he’d woken up as that morning. Or any morning since they’d arrived on the island, honestly.
Some benevolent homosexual horndog had possessed or body-snatched him, and his old persona was slowly losing the battle of assimilation.
“I should probably shower,” he blurted, pushing the plate away. “And brush my teeth a few times.”
Heath stopped the plate with his fingers and pushed it back. “Please eat a little first. A shower will help, but you need a full stomach to fully fix this day.”
“You just want first crack at the hot water.”
Heath smiled, but didn’t deny it.
He tore off a piece of the roll and shoved it into his mouth. Chewing was safe. It gave him something besides illogical thoughts to focus on.
Was the day broken? He might have thought so when they’d been arguing. Or when he’d lashed himself to the wheel of Nate’s yacht trying not to be flung overboard. But now? No, he didn’t think it was.
“Fine. Shower’s yours.”
Heath bounced upright and turned to the hall. “Oh, thank God. I swear I’ll make it quick, and that plate better be empty when I get back.”
“What’ll you do if it isn’t?”
Heath stopped in his tracks, hands grasping either side of the doorway. The lean muscles of his arms twitched as he tapped on the wall, and Evan stared at the motion, wondering if Heath was trying to keep himself from leaving or from turning around.
What’s your preference?
His mind raced down several paths at once. It was instinct to challenge someone looking to boss him around, but there were challenges and then there were invitations. That was an invitation.
Deep breaths. It was just a joke, right? Heath was bound to take it that way, and then time would return to moving forward, instead of this back-and-forth shuddering that kept happening.
Heath cleared his throat after an endless pause, but didn’t turn around, and Evan watched those twitching muscles go tight.
“This is probably a foreign concept to you, Westin, but it’s terrible manners to write checks you can’t cash.”