11 #3
“Holy fuck.” Rowan’s shaky fingers lift tentatively at the tie covering his eyes. “Can I take this thing off now?”
No, because I don’t know what I’ll see in your eyes and I’m not sure what you might see in mine.
I blink and clear my throat. “Go ahead.”
“Wow. That was wild. But…amazing.” His eyes are bright, almost glowing under the low light of the bedside lamp.
“Yeah? You liked that?” I’m busy dealing with the condom, giving myself an excuse to look away.
“Hell yeah. I don’t know which time I came harder between last night and tonight, and I don’t know if I’d want to do it that way every time, but maybe—”
Perhaps it’s the way I freeze that makes him cut himself off. I assume he was about to mention a next time. Multiple next times. I’m wondering what’s making my gut twist. The idea that he thinks those times will be with me, or if he assumes they won’t?
His abrupt shift postpones my having to consider the question. “Anyway… Doesn’t matter right now.” He scratches the back of his neck. “So, uh, I tried to call my parents today.”
“Oh yeah?” Why is he telling me this?
Probably because he has nobody else to tell.
This time I force myself to look at him. No reason we can’t have a conversation, after all. He’s got his head down, though, focused more on the rumpled sheets.
“Oh, I guess it’s nothing,” he says after a while. “They haven’t talked to me since I moved out to be with my ex, and I kind of couldn’t bring myself to dial the number. The disappointment in my mom’s voice when I last talked to them still feels shitty.”
Hell. That makes more sense than I wish I did. “Yeah, I get that. Last time I talked to my parents, I was being a mouthy little shit.”
“You? That doesn’t sound right at all.” His teasing grin tells me that, at least for a second, he’s forgotten his pain, so that’s something.
Lights up his face, that smile. Ugh.
“Do you talk to them now?”
Well, if that isn’t a huge bucket of ice water dumped over my head. “No. The last time I talked to them, they went out and didn’t come back. Car accident.”
“Oh. Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“I was young. It’s in the past.” Doesn’t stop the chasm that opens inside me whenever I think of them. “But, Rowan, your parents are still alive. You can still fix things with them. And if you think you can, then you should.”
It’s true, even if the words scrape my throat raw. If I had the chance to talk to my folks again, I’d do just about anything.
Fuck, what am I doing right now? Life advice from the wizened hitman?
I don’t even know. It seems incredibly stupid though, when someone chooses not to speak to their family, even though they have the ability to do so.
If they were toxic or something, I’d get it, but warning him against a creepy older man?
Surely he’s come to the same conclusion by now.
“Yeah. Uh. Thanks. I’ll think about that. I’m gonna go see about warming up the food, huh?” He stretches his long legs and slides off the bed.
I’m not as relieved by the dismissal as I ought to be. It’s good though. Great. Aren’t I the one who keeps thinking things need to stay surface-level?
Forcing myself to nod and smile, I say, “Sounds good. Definitely worked up an appetite.”
“Right. Same.” He looks as awkward as I feel when he leaves the room.
“Rowan. Wait.” The entire reason I left the cabin today got lost when I came home—uh, back—to the smell of cooked food. I could slap the shit out of myself for being this stupid.
He turns back, looking expectant.
“I talked to your pimp today.”
A quiet laugh. “He mentioned that, yeah.”
Did he? I’m tempted to ask why, but I don’t. “Right. Well. He’s got some hackers on his payroll. They’re trying to track down whoever ordered the hit against you. If I can find him, I can get the contract canceled.”
“How, uh…?” He swallows hard. “Something tells me it’s better if I don’t ask.”
“Definitely better.”
I’m steeling myself for his recoil, but all he does is hold my gaze. “Thanks, Milo.”
Why’s he so fidgety? This is basically what we agreed to. It’s a little odd, though. He’s not snarling and snapping at me now. I prefer it when he does.
My small nod prompts him to turn his back on me again. Which is good.
Me, I put my hands to my hips as my gaze swings between Rowan’s naked ass as he makes his way to the kitchen, and the completely destroyed bed. I grab the sleep mask, wondering if I’ll be able to use it again without remembering what happened here.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” The question is from me to myself, but as I glance around, I nearly jump when I find eyes watching me.
It’s only Iggy. At some point Rowan moved his tank to the top of the dresser. He’s blinking at me with what looks a lot like confusion. Or judgment. Both.
“You’re supposed to be asleep, little guy,” I tell him as I stroke a finger over the top of his head. I’ve seen Rowan do that, so it’s probably fine.
He doesn’t answer my question, which is a shame. Someone in this room needs to keep a clear head.
Shoving the lock picks and the stolen tie back into my backpack, I push the question aside for now and join Rowan in the kitchen.