“Might be worth it.” Reece didn’t hug him, but he did drop Grayson’s hand, and then put both gloved palms on Grayson’s biceps. “This is a hug, okay? A bigmy herohug. I thought you were in Vermont or Maine or somewhere east? How the hell did you find me? How did you know my brakes were out?”
“The tracker that EI wasn’t supposed to put on your car, and then a call from your sister, respectively.” Grayson’s eyes were on his face. “You hurt?”
Reece shook his head. “That was some good driving,” he admitted. “Nice moves.”
“Nice ears.”
Reece’s hand flew to his head and found the bunny ears still in place. “They’re atribute. To the employee who died at McFeely’s.”
“If you wore them for a high-speed brakeless thrill ride through Seattle, you don’t need to take them off for me.”
Reece snorted. He squeezed Grayson’s arm and then dropped his hand. Reluctantly, because damn, even an empath in gloves could appreciate those arms. And it was definitely shallow physical arm-appreciation, not touching Grayson generally, that was keeping his racing heart from slowing.
Grayson’s gaze followed Reece’s hand as it returned to his side, but his face of course revealed none of his thoughts. He pointed at his truck. “Can I give you a ride?”
Reece glanced at his car. Grayson’s truck had taken minimal damage, while his poor car was crunched against Grayson’s bumper, the headlights smashed, an EI tracker on it, and still no brakes. “Probably a good idea.”
He followed behind Grayson up to the truck. Grayson opened the driver’s door, and Reece leaned in to hug the truck’s door frame. “You beautiful souped-up angel.”
“You know you’ve got your arms around a truck that only gets sixteen miles to the gallon?”
“Don’t listen to Evan,” said Reece. “What’s a girl like you doing with a guy like him anyway?”
“Planning to steal her away?” Grayson said.“Again?”
“I didn’tstealyour truck that night,” Reece said indignantly.Lie.He winced. “I mean. I gave her back. And look, I’m not even asking for the keys right now. I can admit that I’m shaken enough that you’re probably the safer driver. For now. Come tomorrow—”
“Not in your wildest dreams,” said Grayson. “Get on in, it’s freezing out.”
“Freezin’,”Reece repeated, as he levered himself up onto the step into the tall truck. He glanced back over his shoulder. Like this, he was a couple inches above Grayson, and it was easy to look into those vault-like hazel eyes. “I could just sit in the driver’s seat and not move?” he said sweetly.
“You think I won’t move you myself?”
Don’t say it, don’t say it—“I thought you were saving that kind of thing for our hypothetical hate-sex.”
Son of a bitch. Was he ever going to be able to be remotely smooth around Grayson?
But Grayson wasn’t mocking the world’s most awkward empath. He only casually leaned on the side of the truck, gaze flitting over Reece. “You do realize that every empath on this planet has a million reasons they don’t want even hate-sex with the Dead Man?” he said. “No matter how hypothetical?”
“What, because of the empath hunter thing?” Reece scoffed. “That’s not a deal-breaker.”
“Empathspecialist. And how is that not a deal-breaker?”
“You could have worse jobs,” Reece said. “Like a billionaire hoarding money while other people starve. That’s way worse.”
“I can’t help but notice that once again, you have all the self-preservation of a lemming.”
“I can’t help but notice that you saidempaths don’t want it. What does the Dead Man want?”
“Are we back to you assuming there could be more to the Dead Man’s life than the job?”
They were almost level like this, their mouths nearly aligned and close enough Reece could have leaned forward and kissed him.
And then blacked out and fallen on his face. But still.
“I didn’t ask about the Dead Man’s job,” Reece said. “I asked what you wanted.” He hesitated. “Are you able to want things?”
“Wouldn’t matter and never will,” Grayson said enigmatically. “You getting the rest of the way in? Or am I gonna have to move you after all?”
