17
“Morning, Dollface.”
The smell of hot coffee and fresh donuts hit my nose, and I cranked open my eyes. “Food.”
Clay snorted then sat beside me on the bed in yet another hotel room. “How are you feeling?”
“Hungry.” I made grabby hands at his offerings. “Feed me.”
A rumbling noise poured into the hall behind him, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his features.
Holding up a finger, he said, “Be right back.”
Faster than a speeding bullet, he bolted out of the room, taking my reasons for living with him.
“The food,” I called after him. “Bring it back.”
“It’s back.” Asa entered the room, hands full, and kicked the door shut behind him. “Good morning.”
“Before you ask how I’m feeling,” I cut in, “I demand you hand over the coffee and the donuts.”
“You might want to sit up first.” He stood over me, smelling better than any man had a right to, and I don’t mean the food in his hands. Though that was amazing too. “Unless you plan on absorbing the caffeine through your skin after you dump it down your shirt.”
“I like you better when you play the strong, silent type.” I sat up with a grunt. “Now gimme.”
That was a total and complete lie. I hated how he shrank into himself for others’ comfort, but I was getting hangry. Food now. Lectures about him accepting himself later. As if I had any room to talk.
“There’s your milk.” He passed me a mug and a large dinner plate piled high. “There are your donuts.”
“Milk?” I perked and took a sip. “Aww.” I set the drink aside. “Clay even warmed it.”
The coffee must have been Asa’s usual breakfast brew. Served black, I was sure.
“No, that was Colby.”
“Oh Goddess. Are we dead? We are, aren’t we? She used the microwave and blew us to smithereens.”
“Clay supervised.” A soft laugh huffed out of him. “Does this mean your ideal afterlife includes me?”
“If black witches had afterlives, and we don’t, I wouldn’t be offended by the scenery.” I wiggled my toes. “Are you going to sit or just stand over me like a creeper?”
“I didn’t want to presume.” He sat with a contented smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Curious.”
Arching an eyebrow, he awarded me his full attention. “Oh?”
“Vanessa.”
“She gave me her number, but I never called her, as you heard.”
“Not that.” I shoved a cakey pumpkin spice donut with thick glaze into my mouth. “That’s fine.”
“That’s…fine?” A line bisected his brow. “You don’t mind if other women proposition me?”
“That was in the past, so not really my business. Plus, she’s dead.” I chugged my milk. “I win.”
“You win indeed.” His shoulders shook with laughter. “So, what was your question?”