Chapter 6
Chapter six
Garrett
Stretching out on the bed, I take stock of my extremities as I slowly wake up. I slept much better than I expected, the sounds of rain and wind lulling me into a deep sleep and only waking when a dull sunlight broke through the cracks in the curtains.
Standing, I rub a hand over my naked chest, tuck my morning wood behind my waistband, and then pull open the thin floral curtains.
Outside, the storm from last night has not let up. Water puddles on the ground, the rain falling faster than the soil can drain it and the trees bend away from the howling wind. It’s at least an hour’s walk to the village and there’s no chance I’m venturing out in this.
“Motherfucker!” A loud crash follows angry cursing, and I throw on the same flannel shirt I had on last night and open the bedroom door. The first thing that hits me is the smell – burning – but not the smooth woodsy scent of the log fire. This is the acrid scent of burnt food.
Rounding the entry to the kitchen, I stop short when I find Roman, dressed in his oversized hoodie and purple leggings.
“Morning!” I exclaim, and he startles, dropping the pan he was holding and sending a wave of scrambled egg across the kitchen floor.
“Jesus Christ! Warn a guy when you enter a room!” He flails a hand around before running it through his bed rumpled hair.
“Sorry. Do you need help?” Roman levels me with a glare that could shatter glass. He looks tired. His brown eyes are dull with purple bags clear beneath them.
“What I need,” he crouches down and picks up the pan, “is for the eggs to not stick when I’m trying to fry them.” I look at the remnants of egg on the floor. I was mistaken. He was not making scramble after all, but I would use the word ‘frying’ loosely.
Moving closer, I stretch out a hand, approaching slowly like the chaos kitten may lash out and attack if I move too quickly. With my hand on the pan, I take it from him and then move to the sink where I scrub the burned pieces off it. I’ll sort the disaster of a floor later.
“Did you use oil?”
Roman slumps onto the kitchen stool, his head resting on his arms on the wooden counter.
“I don’t have oil,” he mumbles, talking into the space between his arms.
Opening the pantry cupboard, I pull out the full plastic bottle of sunflower oil I had delivered as part of my grocery shopping the day I arrived. The shelf below is full of biscuit packets and boxes of tea. I take out one box and flip on the kettle.
When Roman doesn’t move or speak again, I go about frying eggs and bread and when it’s ready, I plate it up.
I pour two glasses of apple juice, along with a mug of tea for him, and place all the food on the counter.
Roman still doesn’t stir, his head tucked between his arms. By the gentle rise and fall of his back, I guess he’s fallen asleep.
“Short Stack?” I say, bumping his shoulder with my arm. “Eat up before it gets cold.”
He groans, then looks up at me, a line of dribble stretching across his cheek. He is fucking adorable. Beautiful and adorable. I admonish myself for thinking of him in any way other than the annoying intruder that he is, and settle onto the stool next to him.
“Thank you,” Roman says, laying one piece of toast over the other and making an egg sandwich.
“Sleep well?”
He scowls, his mouth full of food.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
When he’s finished chewing, Roman wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie.
“I slept like shit,” he says. “By the pep in your step, I’m going to guess you fared much better than I did.”
“Slept like a baby,” I reply. I flash him a smirk which earns me an eye roll.
Roman sips on his tea, his nose wrinkling as he pulls back to look at the steaming mug.
“You made Earl Grey?”
“Um…yes? Is there a problem?”
He takes another sip before he addresses me again. “You don’t serve Earl Grey with breakfast. Everyone knows that it’s an afternoon tea.”
Do they? News to me.
“You serve English Breakfast tea in the morning. It’s literally in the name.”
“I don’t think that’s right.”
His scowl deepens, and I raise my hand in surrender.
“Fine, I apologise for my tea faux pas.”
He drinks more of his ‘not breakfast tea’ and nods. “You’re forgiven.”
I smile around the rim of my glass.
When we’re both finished eating, I stand, taking our plates to the sink where I wash them and leave them all to dry on the side. Roman is silent the entire time, and when I turn around, it’s to find him back with his head resting on his arms, his eyes locked on to me.
“I presume you’re not leaving today?” he asks.
I glance out the large window over the sink. The rain is heavy, the skies a dark angry grey despite it being morning.
“No,” I reply. “It wouldn’t be safe walking through the woods in this.”
He slides off the stool, his shoulders slumped, and points towards the hallway.
“Fine. Whatevs. I’m going to take a nap. On the bed.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply, simply grumbles something I don’t catch and heads down the hallway. I leave him be. He may still be a stranger to me, but what I’ve learned from our brief exchange is that Roman Otley is not a morning person.
“We have a new case,” Jill Parker says as she walks into DI Snipers’ office. She’s carrying two takeaway cups of coffee, and has a yellow file tucked under her right arm.
“What is it?” he asks, looking up at his partner from the pile of unfinished paperwork on his desk.
Jill pulls out the chair opposite and hands him a coffee, which he takes with a thanks and a smile. Then she places the file on top of the other papers already littering his desk.
“Young guy, early twenties, says he’s being stalked.”
Jack opens the file and browses the details, his eyes landing on the statement made by the complainant.
“He’s seen someone following him?” Jack asks and Jill nods, leaning closer and pointing further down the page.
“Says someone chased him down the alley behind his gym last week. The next morning, he woke up to find a photo of himself asleep, on his pillow.”
Jack flips the page, his eyes scanning a copy of the photograph.
“Interesting,” Jack replies. “So the perp has clearly been in his house. And if he found him at the gym, he already knows the guy’s routine.”
“The Captain wants us to make this a priority. Find the stalker before anything escalates,” Jill remarks before taking a sip of her coffee.
Yes, Jack thinks. This is just the kind of case he needs right now. Something to keep his mind off the shit show that is his personal life.
“Blaine Baltimore. Why is that name so familiar?” Jack taps a finger against the name typed on the page in front of him.
“He’s a celeb. Was the winner of that reality TV show about the people stranded on the island with pretend zombies.”
Jack can picture the show, but he can’t put a face to the name. He has never enjoyed watching reality television.
“Right, well, let’s get on with it then.” He takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing when it burns his upper lip, then stands from his desk and gestures to the door.
“First things first, I’d like to meet Blaine.”
I lean back against the desk chair, stretching my legs out and crossing them at the ankles.
A deep satisfaction settles in my chest. After facing a writer’s block of mammoth proportions for the better part of a year, I woke with a story brewing and when I sat down to type; the words flowed out.
After jotting down endless plot and character notes, I’ve been writing for over three hours, my hands cramping from the lack of a break.
I couldn’t stop, though. Not when the story was so clear in my mind. It’s like something woke up the author in me.
“Anyone been attacked by a vampire yet?”
I jump from my relaxed position, spin my chair around and knock into Roman, who stumbles forward and catches himself by grabbing onto my shoulders, bringing him close enough I can smell my body wash on him.
My cock likes that very much, twitching in the confines of my boxers when his eyes meet mine and he levels me with a devilish grin.
Roman rights himself, brushing his hands over his hoodie. It’s black and has the words “Do you dare, Supernova?” emblazoned across the front. He appears to be in a far better mood after his nap.
“Nope. Still just a regular crime drama,” I reply.
A shiver runs through me, the air in the room a lot colder than it had been when I first sat down earlier in the day. This is what happens when I lose myself in my writing – I don’t notice changes in my environment.
Standing up, I move towards the fire, throwing on two logs to stoke the flames that had dwindled, letting the cold creep in. In the background, the festive sounds of Dean Martin fill the air, the old CD player that came with the cottage turned to a low volume.
“Pity.” Roman sits on the arm of the sofa and pulls a book out of the big pocket at the front of his hoodie. It has two characters on the cover, one that is brandishing what looks to be a sword. It’s not something I’ve read before.
“What are you reading?” I tip my head towards his book.
“Demon Slayer.”
I have no idea what that is, but he’s looking at me like I should – his eyes widening and his head tipped slightly to the side.
“Right.” I look closer at the cover, noting that the young girl has fangs. “Given your fascination with vampires, I presume that’s what your book is about?”
Roman looks at the cover and then back at me.
“No, it’s about demons.” He taps the white font.
“It’s literally in the title.” He uses the same tone he did earlier when pointing out the breakfast tea, like he’s amused at my lack of knowledge.
He moves his finger to the picture of the girl.
“Nezuko is a demon, and this is her brother, Tanjiro – he’s human. It’s very good.”
“But are vampires not a form of demon?” I ask, admittedly making it obvious he was right about my lack of knowledge on this topic.
Roman’s eyebrows knit together and he kicks his legs against the side of the sofa, swinging them back and forth.
“No. They may have similar characteristics, but they are very different. I could give you a rundown?”
I shake my head, already desperate to get back to my novel.
“I’ll take a raincheck on that. I’m going to…” I gesture to the desk behind me.
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll just be here, quietly reading.”
I sit back in my chair, as he flops backwards, landing on the sofa with a thump. He opens the book, holding it above his head, turning the pages and mumbling as he reads. He is anything but quiet – sighs and quiet running commentary accompanying each flip of the page.
Returning to my typewriter, I work on the scene where Jill and Jack meet Blaine for the first time. And if Blaine is reading a book about demons and their siblings when they meet him, that’s between them and me.