Chapter 13
Thirteen
Sully
I’m up and running to the door the instant I hear tires on gravel, accidentally startling Twenty-Four’s nap on my shoulder. “Sorry, bud,” I whisper then turn to Zoe. “Hey, can you come look out for me. I can’t.”
“What the hell?” She follows at a dreadfully slow pace considering my level of excitement.
“Ru’s home, right? It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Oh. Hang on.” Carefully, making sure not to let the late afternoon light in, she peers past our blackout blankets through the blinds. She must believe I’m a vampire now, or she wouldn’t be so cautious. “Yeah, it’s Ru.”
“Yay!” I clap my hands. I’d been worried. Her too. We kept ourselves busy watching Twilight, but I’ve been thinking of Ru stuck at II Tech this whole time, even during our particularly heated debate of Team Edward versus Team Jacob.
(Team Jacob, obviously.)
“Does Ru look happy? Worried? Is he all right?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?”
I think I know what that means, and if I’m right, then yeah. I do have it bad for him.“Maybe. Probably, yeah.”
“He’s fine,” she says, and shoos me farther into the house.
I back around the corner so he can get in without letting any light hit me. Because of this, Zoe greets him first, taking grocery bags from his arms so he can go get more while I’m stuck waiting. Stupid sunlight, keeping me from my Ru.
“Finally, real food.” She dumps the bags into my arms. “Put these away, will you?”
I grumble to myself as I unload packages of noodles, cans of tomato sauce, eggs, ground beef, chicken breast, steaks, broccoli, and so on. I don’t see why this stuff is any better than what I picked. Ru didn’t even buy popcorn, but that’s okay. Thankfully, I bought plenty.
When he rounds the corner, the urge to throw myself at him, wrap my arms around him, and smell his hair hits hard, but I manage to resist. Besides, his arms are already full of more “real food,” so there’s no room for me.
“Hey, Ru.” I smile, careful not to show the sharp teeth. He doesn’t like them.
He stops in his tracks and his eyes widen. “Whoa, Sully. Look at you.”
I’d forgotten. I’m wearing a pair of Ru’s old sweats, but I have on a lovely form-fitting green sweater borrowed from Zoe. My eyes are neatly lined in dark brown and a shimmer of green is dusted over my lids. Zoe’s work. And I love it.
She did my hair too. She swears she didn’t do much, but it looks amazing, all curly and shining. I love her.
And I love the way Ru is looking at me now.
“Do you like it?” I bat my darkened lashes at him. I can’t help myself.
I deflate a little as he turns away and heads toward the kitchen to offload the groceries. “Sure, you look great,” he says a bit too casually for my liking.
Behind him, Zoe winks at me. “So, all went well at II Tech?”
He nods. “As well as it could. I’m free for at least a month.”
I don’t want him to go back ever. I want to burn the entire facility to the ground so we never have to worry about them again. But I’m afraid to say any of that out loud, afraid of what Ru will think of the dark streak within me.
I round the counter to help with the rest of the groceries, getting closer to Ru in the process.
He chuckles. “You smell like a Bath and Body Works.”
“Is that bad?” Nervously, I catch his gaze to judge his reaction.
“No, it’s…” He returns my smile with a little grin of his own, just a quirk of his lips, but it makes me feel better. “You smell nice, Sully. I should have said that instead.”
“Thank you. It’s Zoe’s body spray.”
She shakes her head. “Help me pack up my stuff, and it can be your body spray. Smells better on you anyway.”
“You’re leaving?” I don’t want her to go, and yet, I’m eager to be alone with Ru again, so I’m left feeling torn.
“Yup, I skipped work to be here today, but I have to go in tomorrow.”
I frown.
“Don’t make that face. I’m only a forty-five minute drive away, so we’ll see each other again soon. Promise. I’ll even bring you more clothes.”
That makes me feel better. I don’t deserve her, but I’m glad she’s my friend.
Ru
Alone with Sully, I cook us some dinner. Simple spaghetti in a meaty tomato sauce with some garlic and spinach, which he praises as if it were five-star cuisine. As much as he enjoys simple carbs, he also loves a proper meal when one appears before him.
While we eat, I relay my conversation with Oliver and Voijin’s subsequent interruption and unexpected help.
“He heard you,” says Sully after a mouthful of spaghetti. Twenty-Four sits next to his plate eating a noodle. At some point, I’ve gotten used to having a rat on the kitchen table.
“What do you mean?”
“He would have heard everything. Your request, Oliver’s obvious intent to deny it, and he intervened.”
“But… why?” What could that mean? “Do you think he wants me gone?”
“Maybe.” Sully shrugs. “Or he genuinely wanted to help. He’s not awful.”
I beg to differ. His mere presence makes my skin crawl. But realistically, Sully’s right, he’s never been awful. And we’ve seen awful. “Which do you think it was?”
“I don’t know why he’d want you gone, but I can think of a few reasons he’d offer to help.”
“Which are?”
“To be liked. To be owed a favor. To piss off Oliver.” Another little shrug. “No one likes Oliver.”
Actually, those are all pretty good reasons. “You’re quite smart.”
Color rises prettily in his perfectly moisturized cheeks. Once again I’m reminded that Zoe’s a goddess among peasants. Sully is lovely on his own—he needs nothing to enhance his natural beauty. But that eyeliner. Damn. It suits him.
And she knew I’d be into it.
His grin is mischievous. “In any event, we got want we wanted. Your leave of absence. Time away from II Tech. You said we could celebrate, remember? With drinking.”
I’m still not sure letting Sully get drunk is the best idea, but as established, he’s impossible to say no to. Especially with the blend of innocence, curiosity, and excitement dancing in those green eyes.
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“It is. I want to know what being tipsy is like. I want to be drunk and silly. And I want you to be drunk and silly with me.”
Put that way, it doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, except for the fact that it is.
Together, we clear the dishes and start the dishwasher. As it chugs way, Sully grabs two beers from the fridge and hands one to me. “Cheers.”
“Too soon. We don’t say cheers until after they’re open and we clink cans. Also, this is the time for a toast if you like.” I pop mine open. The can hisses. Sully follows suit. “To your freedom.”
He grins. “And to yours.”
We clink cans and drink. The beer he chose is mediocre at best, but it slides down my throat easily enough. I’m not much of a drinker, not since college, but I’m not about to let Sully drink alone for his first time.
His nose scrunches. He smacks his lips. “It’s… different.”
I chuckle. “If you don’t like it, I can make you something else.”
“I don’t not like it.” He takes another swallow. “I’m not sure what I expected, but this isn’t it.”
“You have a sweet tooth. You’d probably like a mixed drink better, and seeing as you bought about seven different types of juice, and Zoe’s liquor cabinet is well stocked, we have a lot of options.”
“I want to try everything!” he squeals, and heads back to the fridge.
“Okay, but ground rules.”
He knits his brows. “Rules. I don’t like rules, Ru.”
I should have known that. “Okay, never mind, don’t think of them as rules. More like guidelines to make sure you have the most amount of fun with the least amount of unpleasant repercussions.”
“You mean like a hangover?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. That and puking your guts up in the bushes. Or worse, on Zoe’s parents’ furniture.”
“I’m listening.”
“Guidelines. We go slowly. One drink at a time. We wait to see how each one makes you feel. And when I think we should stop, we stop. Agreed?”
He purses his gloss-covered lips. “Probably.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly how it sounds. Those guidelines will probably be just fine.”
I shake my head and go to the bar for some rum. Something tells me he’ll like a sugary, tropical flavor. Maybe with the mango juice? Like a Pina Colada, sort of. I’ll have to check out my options.
Meanwhile, Sully is gathering ice and cups and humming to himself. His body is hella distracting in that sweater. The curve of his lower back, the flare of his shoulders, the hint of a delicate wrist beneath the tapered cuff.
Drinking is only going to make that worse, but tonight I’m a glutton for punishment.
Sully peers from close behind my right shoulder, observing as I mix him a drink. His sweet, berry-fresh scent mixes with the mango and makes the kitchen smell of fruit cocktail. The warmth of him seeps through the back of my shirt.
If I lean back a fraction, we’d be touching, but he keeps that careful space between us. I don’t blame him. I may have weaseled my way out of II Tech for now, but that doesn’t erase my complicity.
I’ll always be guilty.
I hand him the cup, heavy on the juice, light on the rum, and watch him take a sip. He lights up. We have a winner.
“Oh, yes, this is much better than beer.”
“To be fair, beer is more of an acquired taste.” I’m curious what his tolerance will turn out to be. Will he be a lightweight because he’s never had alcohol before? Or will his vampire nature make it impossible to feel the effects? Somewhere in between?
Time will tell.
“Make one for you”—he nods to the rum—“then let’s play a drinking game.”
I can think of exactly zero drinking games appropriate for our circumstances. In fact, the first three that pop into my head involve stripping. “Um, do you know any?”
“No.” He frowns. “I thought you would.”
“Not really,” I fib.
“A regular game, then, and we’ll also be drinking. Zoe showed me the game closet.” He heads to the hall closet and throws open the double doors. “I don’t know any of them, so you pick.”
There are loads of choices. They’ve got old classics like Scrabble and Monopoly and newer games like Exploding Kittens and Sushi Go! There are cards, and UNO, and puzzles.
I’m more of a classics type of guy, so I grab Jenga and set about explaining the rules.
What was I thinking?
Four drinks and three-and-a-half lost games later, I wonder why in the world I chose a game that requires micro-control of reflexes, a feather-light touch, and a steady hand, all of which Sully possesses in spades, apparently even when semi-drunk.
And I… do not.
He giggles as the tower topples on my turn. Socks and Twenty-Four decided long ago they dislike this part of the game and headed off to some more quiet part of the house.
I flop back into my seat. “You win. Again.”
He slides over, still laughing, into the mountain of pillows he’s arranged on the couch. “I think I need another drink.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
“Oh, I definitely do. And so do you. I’ll make them this time.” He sashays his way into the kitchen while I clean up the game and shove it back into the closet with the doors shut behind it, where the damn thing belongs.
“I swear, I used to be good at Jenga.”
“I’m glad you’re not anymore. Winning is fun. So is drinking. Fun, fun, fun.” His pour is noticeably heavy on the rum and light on the juice.
My hind brain knows I’m in danger, but the rest of me isn’t about to spoil his fun, fun, fun. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having fun too. The cozy glow of booze, the elegant dulling of the senses, the lowering of inhibitions…
Sully hands me a fresh drink, eyes sparkling with drunken, mischievous delight.
We clink glasses.
I take a swallow and suppress a sharp cough. “Whoa. Strong.”
He grins, covers a hiccup, and giggles. “I like the burn.”
Damn. Why is that so sexy?