I wasn’t. And never would…
While a warm shower helped me ease back into my body—maybe even literally—the soap and water did nothing to clean the lingering dirty thoughts from my mind.
What it would be like to take a shower with him…
What other parts of my apartment—or his—we could… enjoy.
Different ways I could… retaliate.
I supposed the silver lining of possibly not being long for this world (if there was one) was that I wasn’t going to have to worry about my love life or how no future bedroom interludes wereevergoing to live up tothatexperience.
The man had given mysoulan orgasm, one layered over the O he’d delivered to my body.
With the help of etherealtendrils.
“I’m ruined,” I murmured to myself, my voice echoing slightly in the cramped shower as the water rushed over me, swirling citrus shower gel and the remnants of all hope that I wouldn’t fall for this forbidden being—that I hadn’t already—down the drain. “I’m ruined, and all I want… is for him to do it to me again.”
And always.
37GRIM
“Can I… help you?” asked the boy as he dug an earbud out of one ear.
“Hunter,” his name tag read.
I’d stood there, at the end of the aisle between the tall shelves, scowling at him for longer than I should have without saying anything. It was just that…
“She didn’t tell me you were a kid,” I said.
Now he dug out the other earbud. “Excuse you? I’m eighteen. And ‘she’ who? Who are you even talking about—and whoareyou for that matter?”
Eighteen? Technically, thatwasn’ta kid. But… it also kind of was.
Flora took the eighteen-year-olds. That was her cutoff age. Which was why he looked especially young to me since my pickup age started at nineteen.
Whatever. Not important. I wasn’t here to get him or anybody—just to talk.
“Do you remember this?” I held up the gray Grim Reaper book I’d found in Helena’s apartment.
“Where’d you get that?” the kid asked but almost like he didn’tcare. He even returned to shelving the books he pulled off the huge cart that stood in the aisle between us.
“Where do you think I got it?” I asked him. “Helena gave it to me.”
“I don’t know who the hell you are,” he shot back. “What if you’re a serial killer and you murdered her and stole it or something?”
“I’m not a serial killer,” I snarled between my teeth, lowering the book.
“Well, you sure as shit look like one.”
Was he serious? Maybe I should have come earlier—let Helena handle the talking here. And maybe I would have if I’d known this “coworker friend” was practically still in diapers.
“I’m her boyfriend,” I said.
That got his attention. Slowly, he peered my way again, scowling at me in turn—narrowing that one visible eye, his other curtained behind loose black hair.
“She said she needed to pull the book for afriend,” he said.
“She did,” I snapped. “Aboyfriend.”
