More shivers attack my body, and I run down the step and head for two large containers. I manage to squeeze my small body in between them, letting them block some of the wind.
Mama told me not to move. I don’t want to be bad, but it’s so cold. The man said she would be back before I feel it, but she’s still gone. I can see the door and the stairs from here, though, so I’ll know when she comes back. Hopefully, she won’t be mad at me.
I curl myself into the tightest ball I can make as nighttime replaces the day. I can still hear some cars driving past on the street nearby but not as many as before.
Fat tears roll down my face, blurring my eyes, and I try to wipe them away in case I miss Mama.
The shadows start to move, and I swear they’re coming towards me. I screw my eyes shut, but when nothing attacks me, I peek out of one eye. A soft light shines down on me, chasing the shadows away, and I tilt my head to the sky. The moon, so big and bright, lights up the sky, making it look blue instead of black. I should be looking out for Mama, but I can’t take my eyes off the light.
I don’t want to see the shadows clawing at the edge of my protective circle, so I keep my eyes on the moon until they get heavy.
I hope Mama finds me before the light disappears and the shadows come back again.
A buzzing sound penetrates my ears, and I groan as it vibrates through my pulsing head. The buzzing stops for only a second before starting again. I slap my sluggish arm around, trying to find whatever is making the noise, but it only makes contact with tangled sheets.
Peeling my eyes open, I squint into the mostly dark room. The buzzing continues, and I spot the flashing light from my phone on the bedside table as it vibrates with an incoming call.
Fragments of the night before start to come back to me in flashes, but one memory plants itself right in the forefront of my mind.
The kiss.
My heart kicks up a beat, as well as something else, and I adjust the tightness in my slacks as every detail is replayed to me. I don’t know whether to be relieved or irritated that I remember everything about it—how she felt,the sounds she made.Groaning, I press my hand against my hardening dick, adding pressure as the images play out in my mind. She’d fit so perfectly against me, and through the haze of alcohol still lingering in my veins, I can imagine her here with me now—her body on top of mine, my tongue in her mouth, exploring every inch of her. Her taste feeds a craving I wasn’t aware existed inside me, and I drink in every bit of her as I can. She moves on top of me, her core rubbing against my cock as pressure builds low in my belly. I want to see her lose control—to be so consumed with pleasure that her mask shatters.
Before the fantasy can play out, another vision cuts through. One of Grace on the balcony, the moonlight exposing her vulnerability, and my chest tightens.
My phone stops vibrating for a second and promptly starts again for the hundredth time.Fuck me.
My head spins as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and the room tilts as I try to focus.
With a bang, the door to my room flies open, followed by heavy steps. There’s a pause before—
“Why the fuck aren’t you answering your phone?”
I wince, each word like a hammer to my skull. “What time is it?” My voice comes out hoarse and feels like nails scraping along the inside of my throat. I’m still trying to sort through the haziness when a thought occurs to me, and my eyes snap up to Easton’s. “Did you find him?”
He frowns until a flicker of understanding crosses his eyes. “No,” he says but doesn’t elaborate. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
The quick dismissal irritates me. “I was asleep. Why are you here at the crack of dawn if it’s not because you have him?”
“I was making sure you’re not fucking dead,” he says, his tone sharp. “It’s hardly early for you, and you wouldn’t answer your phone.” He crosses his arms over his chest and pins me with his dark gaze like I’m in the fucking wrong here.
“Clearly, I’m not dead.” I rub a hand down my face, barely containing my annoyance, and push off the bed. I collect my phone from the bedside table, feeling Easton’s eyes on me, but I ignore him. The screen lights up, flashing the time.
Six-thirteen.
I groan and send a glare his way. Of course, I’m usually up by now, but I could’ve done with another hour, half an hour even, while still getting to work at a reasonable time. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so close to the death Easton’s seemingly so concerned about.
“You look like shit,” he says, narrowing his eyes at my rumpled shirt and pants from yesterday. “What happened last night?”
“Nothing,” I say, my voice almost too harsh. I don’t even understand what happened last night. There’s no way I’m telling him that Ikissedher.
“Bullshit. How much did you drink?” He raises a brow, clearly smelling the alcohol I’m sure is seeping from my pores.
I unbutton my shirt without responding, throwing it on the bed, and make my way to the bathroom.
“Are you limping?” He grabs my arm, halting my escape, his fingers digging into my bicep.
The dull ache in my toe becomes more pronounced at his words, and I wouldn’t be surprised if something was fractured in there. “I kicked my toe into the goddamn couch. Nobody tried to kill me.”
His nostrils flare, and I narrow my eyes back at him.
Do I usually drink a whole bottle of whiskey on a work night? No.
Am I going to tell him why I was walking around drunk in the middle of the night? Not a fucking chance.
We hold each other’s stare, neither of us backing down, but when I pull away, he lets me go.
“If you’re going to stay, at least be useful and make some coffee,” I say and slam the bathroom door shut behind me.
God knows I’ll need it.