There’s a deeply ill part of me that watches his Adam’s apple like a fiend. It’ll bob ever so slightly before he breaks land-speed records to give me whatever I’ve asked for.
“Of course.”
I’m not imagining that he was a little breathless with his reply. He disappears into the dark shadows of his kitchen. Barely able to make out even his silhouette, my only cues are the sounds of opening and closing cabinets, water flowing from the faucet, and the squeak of it turning off.
I spin in place, realizing someone is missing.
“Where’s Cupcake?”
“Ant and Erik were in town yesterday and picked her up. Said she needed some refresher training.”
“So…time with their ‘granddaughter?’”
“Yep,” he says, handing me the glass of water.
I brush my fingers across his as I accept the glass. He watches as I touch it to my lips and swallow. Then gulps as if he’s swallowing with me.
“Does that mean you’ll be heading out soon?”
“What, to pick her up? No. Rami’s still in Wimberley. He’s gonna grab her on his way back in this morning.”
How did I not notice that Rami stayed in Wimberley?
Because you’re in the middle of a sexual crisis.
“Oh, that’s cool.”
He watches my throat as I take another sip.
“I’ve actually come down to do the post-operation follow-up,” I say, then realize… “Should I wait until Cupcake is back?”
“Nah.” He waves away my concern while tracking my hand as I wipe the moisture from my lips. “It’s the regular stuff that freaks me out. The operations are my happy place. I don’t mind talking about it.”
His eyes shift to the ground as he gestures for me to join him in the living room.
I set aside the glass and make my way into the pitch-black space. There are no windows in his condo. When he moved in, Silas told us he prefers it this way. I’m pretty sure he actuallyneedsit this way.
He reaches out in the darkness and hits a switch on the wall. Salt lamps come to life, their meager illumination more atmospheric than practical. His icy eyes and dark tattoos take on an otherworldly aspect in the orangey glow.
There are other light sources in the apartment, but I’d rather deal with the low light than have him put on those dark sunglasses.
I’m a sucker for his eyes.
Silas has lived in the building for over a year, but this is my first time down here. As my eyes adjust, the walls come alive with art. Movie posters, local artists, and some of UncleHopper’s pieces. The placement is beautiful, perfectly straight, perfectly spaced, and almost utterly unreadable from more than a foot away.
I pause in front of what looks to be an original piece of two men embracing. One significantly larger than the other.
I startle as Silas steps in next to me.
“That’s my favorite one,” he says softly.
“It’s beautiful.” Keeping my eyes forward, I verify, “You keep it dark in here because the light actually hurts your eyes, right?”
I feel like I should already understand the mechanics of his photosensitivity. I turn to tell him so and instead suck in a sharp breath. Silas looks as though he’s been brushed by candlelight, his icy blues shining preternaturally in the dark.
Stunning.
“I get headaches. Pretty bad ones if I don’t get a break from the light.”
