“No, I’m fine,” he replies, dismissing me easily, still wearing a grin.
“If you’re sure.” He’s a big boy, a very big boy. I think he knows his limits and can take care of himself.
Leaning forward, Gunnar picks up a palm sized stone that I found sitting on my nightstand one day. He examines the rough rock, turning it left and right. The shimmery stone almost glows as he does. “This is nice. Where did you get it?” His tone is a little too interested.
I hold out my palm, letting him know I want it back. “It was a gift from a friend.” He places the jagged stone in my hand, and I put it back in the small dish of stones I keep on the counter. A new one shows up every now and then.
After a very short stretch of silence, he takes a deep breath and his smile disappears, a more serious expression covering his face. “I need to get going.”
“You do?” I surprise myself by how disappointed I sound. “I can give you a ride,” I add, almost too eagerly.
He starts to shake his head as if he’s going to deny the need for a ride, but thinks better of it, and says, “Yeah, that would be great.” He reaches up, grabs the back of his neck, and gazes down. He almost looks shy—if a two-hundred-fifty-pound wall of scarred muscle could look shy.
“Let me go get changed, and I’ll take you wherever you need to go.” I wrinkle my nose and tighten my lips. Shit, I sounded too eager. I hold up a finger, indicating I need a minute, and scamper out of the kitchen.
“Come on, Dami, quit acting like you’ve never talked to a real boy,” I grit through my teeth, as I drag my hand over shirt after shirt in my closet. “Just pick something.”
“The green one looks nice with your hair.” I spin and find Aeson perched on my vanity.
I raise my finger up to my lips, warning her to be quiet. “I have a visitor. I don’t think he’s human, but I’m not really sure,” I whisper to her, grabbing the emerald green sweater she suggested.
She kicks her little legs and leans back against her palms. “What’s he look like?” Her voice goes all soft and sugary sweet.
“Too big for you,” I blurt harshly.
She slowly turns her head and her eyes find mine. “Is he now?” she drawls, one of her tiny, perfectly arched brows raised in a challenge.
“Yes.” I narrow my eyes at her.
Aeson lets out a tinkling laugh. She raises her fingers to cover her mouth, and her eyes go a little wide. “I’m sorry,” she splutters out an apology, still giggling a bit.
“Why are you laughing?” I drag my hair out of the back of the sweater and look in the mirror. Aeson is right, this color does look good on me. If I were going out hunting, I wouldn’t even bother with pants. I twist to get a look at my ass. “Pretty nice.”
“You know you can’t talk to yourself when you’re around normal people,” Aeson warns me.
I face her. “Why were you laughing at me?” I demand again.
She stands up and walks to the edge of the vanity. “I wasn’t sure you even liked men, let alone liked one enough to warn me away from him.” Aeson is beautiful. Tiny and deadly, but still beautiful. I can’t believe I’m actually feeling a little jealous right now.
“I don’t like him.” I avert my eyes from her and grab a pair of black leggings that look like well-worn leather.
“It’s not a bad thing, Dami.” Her voice is soft. I glare over my shoulder at her. “It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with letting people in, even if they are human.”
“I have to go. I’m giving him a ride home.” I ignore her comment and rush to the door. Right before I grab the handle, I pause. “Humans never stick around, Aeson. I’ll be back soon.” I hustle out the door, leaving it cracked for her.
Chapter 3
“Sorry that took me so long,” I apologize, huffing a little from racing down the stairs. Once I left my bedroom, I had this irrational fear he was going to disappear if I didn’t get down here fast enough.
Gunnar rakes his eyes over me, starting on my black painted toes, up my legs, and pausing on the way my chest fills out the sweater. Good call, Aeson. I’ll thank her later.
When his eyes finally meet mine, I tilt my head and cock my hip, letting him know I caught him looking.
He swallows. “I’m ready when you are.” His voice is a little raspy—I like it.
I turn and motion for him to follow. “Let me just grab my shoes and keys. The garage is this way.” I don’t need to check to make sure he’s following me. My senses are keenly aware of him.
Gunnar runs his hand over the rounded top of my car. “This is Betty,” I say, introducing him to the beauty.
