Chapter Seven
Angel
Ash Doss was just as I remembered.
Tall. Broad. Handsome. The kind of handsome that made a bystander look twice, not because they’d never experienced his kind of beauty, but because they need a bit more before never seeing him again.
Though right now, he reminded me of a grizzly bear who’d just come out of hibernation, covered in thick brown fur and struggling to find its way back into the natural way of life.
His hair was curling at the back of his neck, the waves of deep brown on top disheveled as if he’d been running his hand through them, and his beard was longer than that summer day, nearly touching his chest. Thick and unruly.
Grizzly bears were also very dangerous.
Just like him.
He also possessed devastatingly beautiful warm brown eyes which could pierce through every single wall a person constructed around their soul. One look, one gentle but steady look, and I was ready to melt into his arms.
It could never happen.
There wasn’t a chance in heck it could happen.
I couldn’t help but wonder if life had been kind to him since the day he saved me. Since moving to Astoria, I’d done some research on Red Snake Investigations. They offered private security, private investigations, bounty hunting, and a number of other things.
“Would you stay?” I murmured, pressing the issue.
He was ready to leave. In fact, he’d been ready to leave from the moment our eyes met across my living room. I’d never seen someone visibly lock up, but he did at the sight of me. I didn’t know how to feel about that, but my emotions—and head—were all over the place.
He dipped his chin further, giving me the best view of his eyes.
Goodness. Swirls of dark chocolate surrounded the small, almost hidden dim golden ring around his pupils.
The warmth of his irises reminded me of the end of summer, just before autumn arrived.
The sunsets were also more golden around that time of year, with less variety of colors.
Golden sunsets have always been my favorite.
Ash had two sunsets of his own, and I hadn’t anticipated how much I would want to run into them.
“Angel…”
Goodness.
My body, already having been on a roller coaster tonight, should have been tired. His voice sent shock waves through me, and when he said my name like that, which had been a total of two times tonight, my heart caught on fire. Too much voltage. Too much sunlight. Too much…Ash.
A muscle jumped at the top of his cheek, and I knew underneath his thick beard, he was biting down on his jaw, trying to find a way to tell me no.
“You don’t have to stay long,” I blurted.
His eyes flashed with…uncertainty? Disgust?
I couldn’t be sure. He was a hard person to read, and I was horrible at reading people.
“Or if you need to go, I understand.” I dropped my head, looking at our feet.
His black tennis shoes were soaked, covered with mud.
I wiggled my toes in my white socks, fascinated by the contrast. “If you do stay—and I’d be so grateful if you did—I’ll just need you to take off your shoes. ”
“Excuse me?”
My head snapped up. “I mean—only if you’re comfortable with that,” I stammered, raising my hands. “I would never want you to do something you didn’t want to do. I—well, I have a new living room in my rug.”
With a raised brow, the disgust-slash-uncertainty in his eyes shifted to something else entirely. Humor? “You have a new rug in your living room?”
The temperature in my face rose, and without a shadow of a doubt, I knew I was as red as a damn tomato. “Yes. Wait—what did I say?” I breathed, my heart beginning to race.
“I don’t want to stay if I make you uncomfortable,” he said gently, looking behind me. “And I definitely don’t want to ruin your pretty living room by tracking mud in.”
My own thoughts were being drowned out by the overwhelming pounding of that stupid organ in my chest. “You think my living room is pretty?”
The humor in his eyes all but vanished along with the small suns, his pupils taking over. My breath stalled, locking it in the middle of my chest, as he leaned down, inches from my face. “You sure you want to let me in here?”
“What are you, the big bad wolf?” I asked, trying and failing to make a joke.
Goose bumps spread across my arms again like wildfire, and even though I wanted—no, I needed—to look away, to break this spell, I couldn’t.
I was ensnared in his burning gaze, silently hoping he would touch me.
Some days, I could hardly remember it, the strength of his touch.
Then on the days my memories decided to invade, the ones of his touch acted as my anchor, a guide to the present.
His answer was gruff, absent of humor. “Something like that.”
“Oh.”
My lips. His eyes were on my lips.
Goodness.
I’d never had a man look at me or my lips like that. Is that why my knees were about to give out?
Finally, just when I was about to melt completely, he pulled away and looked at the front door. “Why do you want me to stay?”
My eyes refused to leave him, imprinting this new view of his profile to memory. “I have things I want to say to you.”
“So say them,” he offered, still not looking at me.
My hands clasped together, the all too familiar prickling sensation making itself known on the back of my neck. “Well—the thing is—I can’t—” I swallowed the rest of my words, unsure whether I should even bother with saying them.
Big conversations were never meant to be had while standing.
The words of my mother sang out in the back of my head like a broken record.
When I was around the age of ten, my parents came to me with some devastating news about my grandfather, and that’s when my mother uttered those words.
Even though I was an adult now and I hadn’t spoken to my parents in nearly seven years, that one rule had stuck with me, unbreakable. Etched in stone.
“Angel?”
I blinked, finding Mr. Doss’ wall of a chest right in front of me. “Oh, I apologize,” I rushed out, stepping back and clearing my throat. “I got lost in thought.”
His hand found the bridge of his nose, and I watched in fascination as he pinched, closed his eyes, and tipped his head back to my small chandelier.
He muttered something to himself, the sound like distant thunder.
I waited, picking at the hangnail on my left thumb, and started counting to twenty in my head.
When I got to eleven, his eyes found mine again. “Would you like me to put my shoes on the porch?”
“Yes, please.”
He nodded and turned to the door. His large hand covered the antique knob as he looked over his shoulder. “Do you want the rest of the party crew to come in or do you want me to boot them?”
“Party crew?”
“Margo and the other three eavesdroppers,” he deadpanned.
“Oh, well, I need to say good night to them,” I said, moving to him. He pulled open the door to reveal Carrie and Margo practically plastered to the screen. They jumped back, yelping. Their high-pitched squeals echoed into the night and I nearly winced, hoping my crabby neighbor wouldn’t hear.
Shit.
“H-hey,” Margo said, dragging out the y. “We were just…uh—”
“Eavesdropping,” Heath—Hayes said. My eyes drifted over to him against my better judgment.
He gave me a closed-mouth smile, kind but to the point.
He was leaning against my porch column. Grayson was propped up against the other with his arms folded over his chest. His eyes left me, flicking to Ash, and I noted how they went cold, even the smallest of his facial features hardening.
What was that about?
“We were not!” Carrie’s voice captured my attention, but Margo stole it by coming up to me and grabbing my hands.
“You okay?” Her brows were creased together, the corners of her mouth tipped down. Worry painted her striking features, and I didn’t like it. There was no reason for Margo—or anyone in this group—to be worried about me.
“Yes,” I answered, tilting my head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
The right corner of her mouth flipped up, and she looked like the Margo I knew once more. “Just making sure.” Her green eyes lifted to Ash, and unlike her partner, guilt softened her features, regret glimmering in them.
“I was just coming out here to say good night to everyone,” I announced. “Thank you for helping me.”
Grayson smiled. “It’s not a problem, Angel.”
I returned the gesture and looked up at Ash, pointing to the small plastic mat where my rain boots sat just outside the door. “You can put your shoes there.”
“He can what?” Carrie asked, jaw slack.
Confusion hit me then, my temple throbbing.
I refused to press my fingers against it.
Not in front of Margo. If I did, she’d become a makeshift home nurse again.
When she arrived, an oversized first aid kit in hand, I’d never seen her looking so frazzled.
She fussed over me for nearly fifteen minutes before Carrie arrived.
Very quickly after that, I was overstimulated and no longer cared about having been in a car crash.
I just wanted everyone out of my house. Then Margo told me Ash was still on the porch.
And suddenly Ash was the only person I wanted in my house.
“Yes, we’re not done with our conversation,” I clarified. “I didn’t want to leave you all standing out here. It’s late.”
“Conversation?” Margo parroted. I turned my head, finding her eyes bouncing between us.
“Right,” Grayson drawled. “Well, we need to get home.” He held his hand out for Carrie’s, lifting his chin to me. “You need anything else before we go?”
I shook my head.
“Call Carrie if you do. We can be up here in ten minutes, yeah?”
I nodded, a funny feeling swirling in my gut. They didn’t know me well enough to offer that kind of thing. And yet here they were, extending hands of kindness.
Carrie hummed in agreement as she pulled Margo out of the way. “Faster if I’m in my car. It does well around curves,” she boasted, beaming. “Can we hug?”
Hug?