Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Ghost
I knew better, but there was a perilous line between knowing better and temptation. And for a man like me, danger wasn’t a deterrent but a saboteur daring me to take a risk.
Pairing that with eyes akin to the morning fog, ethereal and soft and looking at me like I hung the damn moon, the consequences of my actions didn’t even plead their case.
Maybe I knew it would be like this, and that was why I kept my distance. Something about him, this little pipgeek, got under my skin. But now I was here, and he was reclined in my lap. It didn’t matter that I was going to have to walk away if I took a piece of him with me.
I wasn’t gentle. I didn’t hesitate. He offered, and I claimed like fire finding oxygen.
The immediate explosion of heat scorched us both.
My hand reached up to cradle his jaw, pinning him exactly where I wanted, while our lips met in a fury of hunger and impatience and a dull buzz occupied my head.
His lips were dry, likely from dehydration, but it didn’t deter me.
Instead, I licked over them, dampening the soft flesh before settling deep again.
His whimper stoked my adrenaline, desire punching through my limbs.
I gathered him closer, and his arms looped around my neck, chasing the kiss as if I might evaporate before he had his fill.
Fingers curled into my hair, anchoring us together, and I changed direction, tasting him from a new angle.
His tongue was a burst of sweetness in my bitter world, and I licked against it, thinking I could consume it all.
Yet, no matter how deeply I kissed, he never ran out.
He squirmed impatiently, and I felt his nostrils flare, my own lungs echoing the need for air.
The popping of our lips breaking apart echoed through the room, as did the heavy inhales of two people robbed of breath.
With his fingers still knotted in my hair, our foreheads bumped, but then we were kissing again, his light whimpers and shaky exhales intoxicating me all over again.
When at last I lifted my head, my lips felt bruised and his were swollen.
His skin was no longer pale but flushed a deep shade of pink.
Those ethereal gray eyes were now a haze of silver, shimmering with a storm of desire.
The uneven rise and fall of his chest sent a jolt of greed through me.
The idea that anyone but me could affect him this much was enough to make me kill.
Pip collapsed as though it never occurred to him that I wouldn’t support his weight, eyes glinting through narrowed lashes.
“I think my fever just spiked,” he murmured, the corners of those strawberry lips curling up.
Remember those consequences that didn’t show up before?
Here they came, acting like they were gonna holler, I told you so!
I told them to back that ass up.
But even if I didn’t want to be read the riot act on behalf of myself, I did need to consider him. So sick he’d crawled into a box, so feverish he’d barely been conscious. It took so long for the fever to come down. I thought I was going to have to pull rank and take him to the hospital.
And what did I do the second he held a conversation longer than five minutes?
Devoured him.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. That kiss was top three for me.
Don’t give me that squinty-eyed look. I said top three.
But he was unwell. I was supposed to be watching over him.
Standing, I turned to lay him back in the cocoon of blankets still warm from his body. Panic flashed across his face, lighting up his eyes like a bolt of lightning.
He caught my hand, and I couldn’t keep from looking at the way it clutched mine. Harmless. “Please don’t go.”
Hooty-hoo, them consequences were on parade.
The tremble in his voice and the tug of his hand on mine put my entire chest in a vise. Tugging my hand from his, I backed up a step before turning to walk across the room.
His indrawn breath and the absence of a following exhale had me casting a glance over my shoulder. “You should eat something. It’s been too long.”
“I have some creamer packets in my coat pocket,” he said as if he had the solution to world hunger.
My face screwed up. “What now?”
“I pick them up for free at internet cafes and sometimes the library. They’re handy when you need—”
“Creamer is not food.” The words whipped out of me like the sharp crack of a whip.
Creamer packets? Well, consider me just dipped in drama.
I mean, really, this was just what the moment called for. Creamer packets.
I tipped my head. “What flavor?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Usually hazelnut. No one likes them, so they’re the last to go.”
Was he for real right now?
I reminded myself to breathe through my nose. I had this app once that taught me some deep-breathing exercises. You know, for relaxation. My job is high-stress, and it wasn’t like I could call up a therapist and lie on her couch.
“I’ll get them,” he said, as though I wasn’t about to crash out all over this hotel room, and flipped the blankets off his slim, bare legs.
If you’re wondering if I peeked at his dangly bits when I’d changed his clothes, that would be a negative.
I might kiss first and think later, but I was no predator.
“If you so much as put one toe on the carpet, I will not be held responsible for what I do.”
Pip paused, lifting his knee to ensure no toe hit the floor. “What?”
“Put those twin columns of bad decisions back under the covers.”
“What?” he echoed.
Making a sound, I stomped back to the side of the bed, sliding my arm under his knees and tucking him back in. “Do not get up.”
“But the creamer—”
“Is not food,” I repeated. I’m telling you, I think he was hard of hearing. Might have to get him to a doctor.
“But I don’t want you to leave,” he shot out, trying to flip back the blankets once more. I shoved them back up and then sat down so he couldn’t do it again. “They’ll hold me over.” He tried to go on, words tripping over themselves on the way off his tongue.
“Stop,” I said, pressing a finger against his lips. “Just shhh.”
He blinked, eyes nearly crossing as they tried to look at my finger. I told myself it wasn’t adorable as hell.
But it was.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised.
His lips moved a little like he wanted to speak, but my finger was still there, keeping him quiet.
Standing from the bed, I went back across the room to the mini fridge. “I got you some soup,” I told him, pulling it from the cold box and holding it up for him to see.
“You got me soup,” he repeated.
“So do you just pick and choose the stuff you want to hear?” I wondered.
“What?”
Shaking my head, I took off the lid and popped the container into the microwave.
The sound of it humming filled the quiet room while neither of us said a word.
Halfway through, I stirred it and put it back in to finish heating.
While the soup was doing its thing, I grabbed a bag with some crackers and a few dinner rolls off the counter and a Gatorade from the fridge.
The lid made a cracking sound when I broke the seal, and then I held out the plastic bottle.
“That’s for me too?”
“You need to hydrate.”
He seemed unsure, like maybe he thought there was a catch. Which, you know, I could understand.
“Take the drink, Pip,” I said gently. “No strings attached.”
He accepted, lifting it to his lips and taking a sip.
Pride filled me. “Good little mouse.”
The choking sound made me pause on my way to get the soup.
“Mouse?” he asked, swiping his lips with the back of his hand.
“Yeah. Pipsqueak. Mouse. All the same,” I said, getting his food.
“I am not a pipsqueak.”
“Yeah, I realized that when I found the library card in your pocket.”
“You went through my pockets?”
I scoffed. “Like you didn’t know. Anyway…” I continued. “That’s what I thought the first time I saw you. What a little pipsqueak.” He opened his mouth, but I kept on talking. “But then I saw the library card. You must like to read, huh?”
He nodded.
“I knew it. Not a pipsqueak, then. A pipgeek.”
He blinked.
“Huhhh,” I dragged out. “It’s perfect, right?”
“This is why you call me Pip?”
I made a sound of agreement and lowered a tray with the hot soup on it over his lap. “Don’t burn yourself.”
When he didn’t immediately dig in, I held out the spoon. “What?”
“I just wish I hadn’t asked,” he muttered.
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. Pip is cute. Just like you.”
His eyes flickered. “You think I’m cute?”
“You were cuter when you were sleeping.”
His lips parted in surprise, and I laughed. “Gotcha.”
After dropping a few packets of crackers on the tray, I went back across the room to heat up the dinner rolls. Since he was busy, I went ahead and broke them in half and buttered them with those little gold packets they gave me. You know, to save time.
When I turned back, he was slurping some broth off the spoon, steam rising from the bowl beneath his chin. After swallowing, he lowered the spoon. “It’s good. Thank you.”
I slid the buttered bread onto the tray beside his bowl.
He stared at it a long time before looking up. “This is for me too?”
“Yes.”
To my utter surprise, tears filled his eyes so fast that one lone, glistening tear dripped from his lower lashes onto the shirt he was wearing.
“Ohh, okay. None of that now,” I fussed, fluttering around all discombobulated. One thing about me: I didn’t like tears.
His lower lip wobbled, and my heart pinched. When he sniffled, I nearly went into cardiac arrest.
I did the only thing I could think of in the moment.
I kissed him.
His breath caught the second our lips met, the wobble of his lip no more as it molded to mine.
I meant to keep it light and quick, a simple distraction, but the second we met, time became irrelevant.
I kissed him slow and tender, coaxing his tongue with mine.
When the steam from the soup tickled the underside of my chin, I gentled the kiss and pulled back, looking to make sure those tears were gone.
“No one’s ever gotten me soup before. Or bread with butter,” he confessed.
Taking the utensil, I spooned up some noodles and broth and held it out. “Take a bite, Pip.”
His lips parted, and I fed him the soup, knowing deep satisfaction when he swallowed.
“I don’t mind if you call me that.” He decided.
“I don’t recall asking for permission.”
His eyes rolled.
“Better hope they don’t get stuck like that,” I mused.
He took the spoon and started feeding himself, and I went back across the room to brew some coffee with the small machine near the fridge.
“How’s your throat?” I asked as the scent of badly roasted coffee filled the room.
His eyes widened. “How did you know it hurt?”
“You told me.”
“Right,” he said, going back to the soup.
“So it still hurts?” I pressed.
He nodded.
“You can have some more meds in a couple hours.”
His moan tightened my groin, and I stopped mid pour to glance around.
“The butter is all melty.” He purred, munching on the roll. “Just like the chocolate chips in that cookie you left before.”
“About that,” I said, remembering I had a bone to pick with him. “You didn’t order room service.”
He paused in chewing but then licked some of the butter off the top of the bread. Bad, dirty thoughts rolled through my imagination at the sight of that pink tongue.
“You left food on the nightstand,” he answered.
“But you should have ordered room service. I told you to.”
He shrugged. “You already did enough.”
Clearly not, or I wouldn’t have found him shivering in a box.
“It’s my fault,” Pip said, lowering the roll from his lips. He had crumbs stuck to the corners of his mouth.
And he thinks he isn’t a mouse.
“What’s your fault?” I asked, grabbing the coffee to take a drink so I wouldn’t go over there and brush them away.
“That I’m sick,” he said, pushing the rest of the roll into his mouth. “I had a plan, and I didn’t stick to it.”
“All right, spill the tea,” I said, coming over to sit on the side of the bed.
“I planned to get a bus ticket out of here. Someplace warmer where the windchill doesn’t strip the skin off your bones.”
“So graphic,” I admonished.
“I was doing odd jobs, saving up. I planned to get out of town, find a job, maybe rent a room.”
“So what are you still doing here?”
His eyes turned to his soup, the crackers, then strayed to the Gatorade. Basically, his gaze flirted with everything around there but me. Shrugging, he said, “I got sick and didn’t feel like making the trip.”
“You’re lying.”
His stare fired up, pinged off mine, and then scattered away. “I am not.”
He’d be a terrible poker player.
“Garrett,” I intoned, causing his spine to straighten. I waited for his eyes to meet mine, and when they did, I held his stare. “Tell me why you’re still in Buffalo.”
The wrapper crinkled loudly, and then the crumbling of the cracker as it fell into the soup cut through the silence.
I waited him out, letting the tension build, letting him feel my steady stare.
Finally, his shoulders slumped. “I wanted to see you.”
Well now, this tea was piping hot.
“Me?” I repeated like maybe I had a hearing problem too.
He nodded. “After that night you saved me in the alley… I was just so curious. I wanted to see you.”
“So instead of getting the hell out of Dodge, you hung around, hoping I’d show up?” I surmised.
You ever hear that saying birdbrains? It applies here.
Pushing off the bed, I tossed some more shitty coffee down my throat before abandoning the cup to the counter. “You put yourself in danger on some off chance you’d see me again?”
“It wasn’t an off chance,” he countered.
I made a rude noise.
“Here you are.”
I spun to stare at him from across the room, incredulous that he would be so careless… for me.
To see me.
Like I am worth the risk.
The silence was deafening as we stared at one another from opposite sides of the room. It wasn’t often I was at a loss for words, but he had a way of looking at me just right, as though I weren’t the ghost everyone thought I was but a reprieve.
“It was worth it,” he confessed quietly, detonating any and all resolve I had to keep my hands off.
The bowl and spoon rattled when I hastily pulled the tray off his lap. His stormy eyes widened when I flipped the blankets back, but his hands reached for me when I replaced them with my body.