Chapter Fourteen #3
“So,” he parrots back, both of his eyebrows arching up. He squeezes my hip, then lets me go. “You can tell me tomorrow. I don’t want—” He shakes his head, seemingly at war with himself. “I don’t want you to tell me things when you’re not yourself.”
I frown, confused. “But we had an agreement. You cross an item off my list, and I tell you what you want to know.”
“I’m aware.” He backs away from me, reaching for the T-shirt I’m still holding in my hand.
If I were capable of blushing, my cheeks would probably burn hot with the knowledge that I’ve been gripping it like a security blanket for the better part of a half hour.
He tugs it over his head, mussing his already messy curls.
“But the information will keep for another twelve hours or so.”
“Okay,” I say, still suspicious. “I guess I’ll—I guess I’ll be going, then. Thank you for the alcohol.” Unsure what else to do with myself, I salute. Then, horrifically embarrassed by my behavior, I scurry for the couch.
Or I try to. Something holds me in place.
I turn, and Gabriel has his finger curled around my back belt loop.
“Unhand me,” I demand.
Gabriel snickers. “Nah.”
“Seriously.” I try to twist and swat at his hand, but I’m seeing two of him, and they’re both infuriating. “I’m trying to leave with some of my dignity intact.”
His mouth twitches with a grin he’s doing a poor job of hiding. “Then maybe don’t salute me next time, soldier.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, sorry, is it general?”
I groan. “Stop making fun of me. I am—” I turn in circles, trying to pull myself out of his grip. “I am the malcontent. I am death incarnate. I am—”
“Drunk. You are drunk.” He finally lets go of me and steers me in the direction of the narrow hallway on the other side of the kitchen. “Off to bed with you, death incarnate.”
“What? No.” I try to drag my feet, but he is a solid, immovable presence behind me. Warm skin and solid muscle and his hands at my hips, marching me forward. “I can’t stay here.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can’t.”
He shoves me through a doorway and slaps at the light switch on the wall.
A soft glow illuminates the space. There’s a massive bed pressed up against the wall, cozy-looking flannel sheets in complete disarray.
Gabriel is clearly not someone who makes his bed before he leaves the house.
The pillows are still in the arrangement he woke up with, I bet.
One halfway off the bed. The other at an angle.
Gabriel grips the top of the doorframe like he needs it to hold himself upright.
“Please don’t argue with me.” A wide yawn cracks his jaw open wide and I catch it, trying to bury mine in the crook of my elbow.
He gives me a sleepy smile. Half-open eyes and a soft expression I’ve only ever seen in fragments.
“I don’t want to chase you down the street.
I’m too tired. It’s two in the morning. Go to sleep. ”
The fizzy, warm feeling dissipates, sinking like a stone in my chest. Of course. Gabriel is a Guardian. It’s his job to protect others, even if that person is the one woman he can’t stand. I’m a liability. An armed and dangerous weapon he can’t let out of his sight.
“I can take the couch.” One last attempt at keeping my hopeful heart from thinking this is something it’s not. “Tater Tot is already out there.”
Gabriel shrugs one shoulder. “If he wakes up, I’ll tell him where you are.”
“If he doesn’t maul you first.”
Gabriel snorts. “Right. Of course.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“There’s a room on the other side of the apartment with a pullout. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” I tug the sleeves of my sweater over my fists. I don’t ask why I’m not the one taking the pullout. The alcohol is catching up to me, and for once, it feels like my body actually needs the sleep, immortality be damned. “I’ll see you in the morning, I guess.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You will.”
He steps back into the hallway and shuts the door behind him.
I stand there and listen to his socked feet pad against the hardwood floor.
There’s a low growl, a murmur from the living room, and then nails click-clack toward me.
Tater Tot nudges the door back open with his nose and slips inside, heading straight for the bed.
He hops up and curls into a ball, his tail thumping once against the comforter.
I smile and follow him, collapsing face-first into a pillow. It smells like Gabriel. Something spicy and comforting. Like a favorite sweatshirt that’s been washed just enough.
My breathing slows, my thoughts drifting lazily.
His scars, his tattoos, the glass of water placed carefully on the side table.
His bedroom and the stack of books next to the bed.
The half-open dresser drawer with a T-shirt halfway pulled out.
Like he thought he might put it on, then changed his mind.
Bits and pieces of Gabriel and the life he lets himself have here.
Tater Tot stretches out behind me, nudging me with his paws, and I close my eyes.
Gabriel, I think, holding on to his name as I drift. I smile, rubbing my face against his pillow.
And somewhere on the other side of the apartment, I swear I hear him whisper back.
Darcy.