Chapter 6 Riley #2
The glass cracked against the edge of the sink and shattered. A shard sliced across my fingertip, and pain lanced through my hand. Blood welled immediately, bright red, surprisingly fast.
“Shit...” I pulled my hand back, cradling it against my chest.
Caelan moved so fast I barely registered it. One second he was beside me, the next he was in front of me, taking my wrist in his hand, turning my palm up to examine the damage. His eyes had gone strange, darker, almost amber at the edges, and there was a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Let me see.” His voice was different, rougher.
“It’s fine, it’s just a...”
“Riley.” My name in his mouth, stern and worried. “Let me see.”
Before I could protest further, his hands were on my waist and he was lifting me like I weighed nothing, and setting me on the counter.
I was so startled I didn’t even resist. Just sat there, legs dangling, while he cupped my injured hand as if it were made of glass.
The physical contact sent my heart racing in my chest, my skin tingling with awareness.
I bit my lip, trying to keep my face expressionless.
“First aid kit,” he muttered, looking around the kitchen with wild eyes. “Where... there has to be...” He started opening cabinets, slamming drawers. “Humans keep these things somewhere...”
I blinked. Humans?
“Caelan.”
He wasn’t listening. He’d found the cabinet under the sink and was pulling everything out, dish soap, cleaning supplies, spare sponges, tossing them aside like they personally offended him.
“Caelan.”
“I need herbs. Bandages. Something to stop the...” He emerged triumphantly with a white box, holding it up like a trophy. “Found it.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. He looked genuinely distressed over a cut that was maybe half an inch long. I’d had paper cuts worse than this.
“My hero,” I said dryly.
“Mock me all you want.” He positioned himself between my knees, and I could feel the warmth of him through my jeans, close enough to make my breath catch. “You’re still bleeding.”
He opened the first aid kit and pulled out antiseptic with hands that weren’t quite steady.
“This might sting,” he murmured, dabbing at my fingertip.
It did sting. I didn’t care. I was too focused on how close he was, on the furrow between his brows. On the way his thumb stroked absently across my palm as he worked. On the fact that he was standing between my knees and neither of us was pretending that was normal.
“You’re very intense about first aid,” I said, trying to break the tension.
“You’re very casual about bleeding.” He wrapped the bandage around my finger with surprising gentleness. “It’s concerning.”
“It’s a tiny cut.”
“It’s your blood.” He looked up at me, and his eyes were still darker than usual, still holding that amber edge. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
He was so close I could see individual striations in his gray eyes and feel his breath on my face. I could smell him, clean and warm, making me want to lean closer.
He finished bandaging my finger, not letting go of my hand once. And then our eyes met, and the very air changed. He started leaning in, slowly, like he was giving me time to pull away. His free hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his fingertips trailing fire across my cheek.
I didn’t pull away. Hell, I wasn’t even breathing. I didn’t think about Damien or trust issues or the thousand reasons this was probably a terrible idea. Suddenly, I wanted to kiss him so bad.
His lips were an inch from mine. Half an inch. I could feel the warmth of him, could almost taste...
“Hey, lovebirds.”
Sloane’s voice cut through the kitchen. She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised to her hairline, looking significantly less asleep than she did ten minutes ago.
“We should head out, Riley.”
I jerked back so fast I nearly banged the back of my head on the wall. Caelan stepped back, clearing his throat. His ears had gone red.
“We weren’t...” I started.
“Didn’t say you were.” Sloane’s gaze flicked between us, something protective settling in her features. “But it’s late, and we’ve had a long day. I’ll drive you home.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll return with Thessa...” Caelan began, his ears still flushed.
“Thessa left.” Sloane examined her black nails. “With Jade. About twenty minutes ago. They looked very friendly.”
I exchanged a look with Sloane. There would be an extensive group chat interrogation.
Caelan looked genuinely bewildered. “She didn’t tell me.”
“Probably because you were too busy playing doctor.” Sloane jerked her head toward the door. “Come on, Riley.”
I hesitated. I should let Sloane drive me home alone, put some distance between myself and whatever that almost-kiss was becoming. That was the smart thing.
But Caelan looked lost standing there in the kitchen, first aid kit still in his hands, ears still pink.
“We can drop you,” I heard myself say.
Sloane shot me a look but didn’t argue.
We finished cleaning quickly, Caelan insisting on sweeping up the broken glass with the same intensity he brought to everything, and piled into Sloane’s ancient Honda.
I took the passenger seat. Caelan folded himself into the back, his knees practically at his chin, looking deeply uncomfortable.
The car was not built for a man his size.
Nothing in Lysmont was built for a man his size.
“Where to?” Sloane asked.
He mumbled his address and my eyebrows went up my forehead. It was one block from my apartment.
I stared out the window as Sloane drove, trying to process. He lived one block away. He’d been one block away this whole time. Coincidence? Intentional? Was I being paranoid?
Probably paranoid, yes.
We pulled up in front of a nice building, nicer than mine, and Caelan unfolded himself from the backseat. He ducked down to look through the window, catching my eye.
“Goodnight,” he said. “Friend.”
The way he said it made it sound like something else entirely.
“Goodnight,” I managed.
He disappeared into the building and Sloane pulled away from the curb. I already knew what was coming.
“So,” Sloane said.
“Don’t.”
“Riley-”
“We’re friends.” I interrupted her, and she laughed. Out loud.
“Honey. That man was not looking at you like a friend.”
“He said...”
“Men say a lot of things.” Sloane pulled onto my street. “The question is what you want.”
She parked, killed the engine, and turned to face me. It was a very good question, but I had no damn answer. I just knew I didn’t trust a man enough to give them my full trust. Damien’s bullshit had left a deep wound on me, one I hadn’t healed yet.
“I like him,” Sloane said. “I think. He’s polite, he does dishes without being asked, and he looks at you like you hung the moon.” She paused. “But I also don’t know him. And after Damien...” She trailed off, but I heard everything she wasn’t saying. We shared the same thought.
“I know,” I said quietly.
“Just don’t let a pretty face make you stupid.”
“His face is very pretty,” I admitted.
“I noticed.” Sloane’s lips twitched. “Now get out of my car before I’m forced to have more feelings.”
I climbed out, waved goodbye, and headed upstairs. I locked my door behind me, leaned against it, and let out a long breath. The apartment was dark. Gerald, the ceiling stain, was barely visible. And as I just stood there, I replayed the evening, a thousand thoughts crashing into me per second.
Friends.
The word echoed in my head, sounding less believable with each repetition. Shit. I was definitely not getting a good night of sleep tonight.