“Aight. Hunter’s travel agent is booking us tickets now. How are things with Drusilla?”
I heard the smile in his voice and clenched my jaw. Who the fuck knew? Admitting to having something with her would only invite unwelcome questions when I eventually put a stop to it. No way was I going to drag her down the dark rabbit hole I was about to dive into.
“There aren’t any things between us,” I told him.
“Hot damn, Spencer. I thought I was the romantic. Turns out, you were the one to drag your ass across the world for a pussy.”
“It had nothing to do with her. I came here for the internship.”
He laughed. I was too distracted to give a damn, though.
“Suuuuure. And I’m doing Meatless Tuesdays because I like quinoa, not because of my vegetarian bae. You’re drowning in a river of denial, too proud to ask someone to pull you out.”
“Clearly Luna likes you for your dick, not your ability to form a fucking sentence. Stay away from writing poetry.”
“Clearly.” More laughter. When he finally calmed down, he said, “Oh, and it’s good you’re not too hot on Astalis, because rumor has it your mom wants to hire her for her gallery in LA when she finishes this little stint. And you told anyone who’s willing to listen you were never coming back to California, amiright?”
“What?” I nearly shrieked, standing in front of the castle now. It infuriated the living fuck out of me that Mom would make this decision without consulting me first. Especially seeing as she didn’t even know Lenora.
Then again, that was exactly why she didn’t tell me. I’d never told Mom how I felt about Astalis.
You don’t feel anything for Astalis, dumbass.
It was quarter to seven, and I was feeling on edge. Pacing back and forth on the front lawn, I shook my head.
“Mom can hire her. None of my business.”
Knight was cracking up at the other end of the line. “Dude, it took you ten minutes to say it. Just admit you believe in a thing called looooove,” he sang. “By the way, this was a test. Your mom said no such thing. But it’s good to know how you really feel. See you in England, fucker. Stay safe.”
He hung up.
I looked at the time on my phone. I had fifteen minutes to shower. My room was all the way on the third floor, the communal showers another good ten minutes from there, down in the dorms. There was no way I was going to make it. I had two options: wait for her and invite her to stay in my room while I cleaned up, or leave her waiting for me.
It wasn’t a particularly chilly night. And she did make me watch her coming in another man’s mouth…
Thing was, I no longer wanted to punish her.
I didn’t want her pain, her insecurity, to scratch at the things that made her tick.
I stood there for twenty minutes, and at five past seven, when she showed up, her back to me, I approached and kissed her shoulder, watching the surprise and delight in her face when she turned and faced me.
“Whoa.” She grinned.
“I need to shower. Wait in my room?” I asked, like a normal person or something.
She smiled, saying something equally as ordinary. “Sure.”
I found her lying in my bed, flipping through my anatomy and sculpting books. The room was bare of any vibe or personality—I preferred it this way—but I still had my sculpting bullshit lying around. I stopped at the door and watched her, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around my waist.
Mainly I couldn’t understand the way this made me feel—observing her on my bed, which smelled like me, going through my shit. The pleasure was unexpected. Foreign. My chest constricted, and I tried to take a deep breath, thinking maybe I’d pulled a diaphragm muscle.
Still, I couldn’t draw enough air to satisfy me.
“Oh, hey.” Her voice was raspy. Hoarse.
I strolled in, pretending I didn’t hear her. I grabbed a rolled-up pair of black jeans from my closet, planning on getting dressed behind a small recliner in the corner of my room.
“Thanks for the new drafting table.” She put the anatomy books aside.
“I broke yours, and you have to work on something,” I reminded her.
Hardly a charitable act.
“Drop the towel,” she said, all of a sudden.
I looked up, half my leg already in my jeans. She sat up in my bed, propped on her forearms, a summer-dream smile touching her face. I couldn’t explain it, but I could breathe her from across the room: lavender, cotton, and my own fucking demise.
“Drop it,” she repeated, all mischievous and…cute. Yeah. Okay. She was cute and pretty. Big fucking deal.
“What for?”
“So I can see you.” She wiggled her brows. “After all, you’ve seen me plenty.”
“I’m about to be balls deep in you in less than fifteen minutes if I have my way,” I said. “Buck naked.”
“Hardly the same.” She licked her lips, her freaky, multicolored eyes glittering like marbles. “There’s something vulnerable about standing naked in front of somebody.”
“Precisely.” I scoffed. “Why would I put myself in a vulnerable position?”
She held my gaze, her voice turning serious. “Because I asked you to.”
Momentarily speechless, I regarded her. She was serious. I stepped from the recliner, dropped my towel, and straightened to my full height, hands on hipbones.
Stark fucking naked.
The first time I’d been naked in front of a stranger since…never mind.
Completelynaked. And I couldn’t even figure out why I was humoring her ass.
The silence wrapped around us, and I let it, because it was her fault shit had gotten weird.
“You’re ashamed.” She cocked her head, a curious expression on her face.
I snorted. Right. She’d be lucky to see a fitter body on a health magazine cover.
“What are you ashamed of, Vaughn?”
I sneered. It didn’t matter.
She stood up and walked toward me, cupped my face with her tiny hands. It almost felt maternal. “You’re beautiful.” She kissed the tip of my nose, closing her eyes. “So beautiful,” she whispered.
A tear rolled down one of her cheeks. I didn’t understand what was happening, and yet somehow, I wasn’t surprised when she cried. I just didn’t want to fucking see it.
I wrapped my arms around her, trying to comfort her because she…what? Pitied me? Em-fucking-barrassing, but apparently I was willing to go this far to be inside her. My knee-jerk reaction was to kick her out. My plan was so close to execution, and this was going nowhere fast.
But I couldn’t.
And not for lack of trying.
We hugged—me naked, her wetting my shoulder with her tears—for what seemed like ten minutes before she pulled back and kissed my lips.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For allowing yourself this one moment of being a boy. And for letting me witness it.”
Down in my cellar, I lit a joint and passed her one of two cans of beer I’d taken from Harry’s fridge. He was still in the hospital, and he’d been transferred to one in central London, so getting drunk around here wasn’t really in his near future.
Len cracked the can open and put it to her lips, not taking a sip. Her eyes roamed the dark, cold place.
“It’s perfect for you,” she said.
“Said the vampire.” I spoke with the joint between my lips, throwing my Zippo against the bench she was sitting on. It was made of cobbled stone. Medieval as fuck. My sculpture, now almost completely done, was clothed in the center of the room by two separate sheets, so she couldn’t see it.
“You invited me in.”
“As per usual,” I said seriously. “You’d be smart to decline next time.”
She smirked, putting her beer down. I sat next to her, feeling on edge. I resisted the urge to rub my thighs, like Mom did when she was nervous. I nailed my palms to the bench on either side of my body.
“Why are you not drinking?” Small talk. I was starting small talk. Willingly.
“Because I almost died on my birthday from alcohol poisoning.”
“I got you.” I gave her beer can a push in her direction.
She studied my face.