Page 59 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

“I like them.” In the low light from the bedside lamp, his eyes appear darker than usual, his spiked wet lashes accentuating them. There’s a line between his brows, like it troubles him that he didn’t know this miniscule fact about me.

“Thanks,” I manage to get out. I turn to slip into the bathroom, but his sleepy voice stops me.

“I like you, too.” He yawns. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

If I turn around, he’ll see the ridiculous flush burning my cheeks, not to mention the smile pulling at my lips. “I like to think so.” Before I close the door, I add, “For the record, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Nineteen

I take the everything-of-everything shower.

We’re talking full naked mole rat shave down, using every last drop of hot water, letting the entire travel-sized bottle of conditioner marinate on my hair for an obscene amount of time like it’s a steak prepping for the grill. The grill being my aching fingers that do the labor of detangling it since, while I remembered my razor, I didn’t remember a brush. Once I work through as many tangles as I can, I twist my curls into two French braids, the best style to keep it from snarling again.

Luke sleeps soundlessly on his back on top of the covers, as if he might be a vampire himself. The visual of him covered in blood with smoldering eyes comes back with a vengeance, but instead of Tatianna, he’s looking at me. I shove the image as far from my brain as possible.

Exhaustion sneaks in now that I’m warm and clean and hair-free (not for any particular reason or anything). My eyes droop as I place my dirty clothes in my duffel and tuck away my toiletries. The fresh pair of leggings, sports bra, and cozy crewneck I pulled on feel like luxury pajamas. I find an outlet and plug my dead phone into it—I might need it when we get back to the overworld.

If we get back.

As expected, my feet hang off the edge of the love seat, and even with my duffel supporting my head, I can’t get comfortable. After tossing and turning for several minutes, I finally relent to the truth: I need to buck up and bunk with Luke.

Careful not to disturb him, I lie down in the space beside where he’s mindfully contained to his half, closest to the door. The bed is tiny, and it doesn’t help that neither of us is particularly on the small side. It’s impossible not to touch him. If we’re both on our backs, his right side presses to my left, and if I turn to face the love seat, my butt presses against his hip. I’m the one who told him we’re both adults who should have no problem sharing a bed together. Yet here I am, ready to crawl out of my skin at our proximity.

But there’s also a comfort to it, especially when his body subconsciously notes my presence and shifts to accommodate. He rolls to his right side, effectively spooning me. It is the most space-efficient option.

This is fine. People can spoon. His hand resting on the curve of my waist? Normal. Where else is it going to go? And it’s on me that my top rode up so his palm is flush with my skin. I should have pulled that down before lying on the bed.

What’s not on me is the way he nuzzles my neck, inhaling deeply before his exhale ghosts across my spine. Goose bumps erupt even though I’m burning hot. His hand is like a brand, and I can’t help but wish his fingers would inch up a little higher. Find the band of my sports bra and dip under it.

Stop it. I shouldn’t feel this way about him. There’s still too much I don’t know, too many secrets stretching between us. My mission is saving Krystal. I need to keep my eye on the prize.

But it’s made all the harder when he pulls me impossibly closer so I can feel every facet of his body pressed to mine. And I mean every facet. Even the press of—

Breathe. Go to sleep. Tell your sex-deprived brain to shut the fuck up.

In. Out. Tomorrow will be a long day. I need sleep. I need—

“Brie,” Luke groans against my neck. His fingers flex on my waist and he repeats my name, softer yet. Like he’s dreaming. But he said he doesn’t dream. He said—

Something unintelligible tumbles from his lips, but the feeling of them brushing against my skin sets me on fire. I wiggle out of his hold, eel-mode activated, and land unsteadily on my feet beside the bed. Without my glasses, my depth perception is off, and I stub my toe against the leg of the love seat. A stream of soundless swears flees my lips as I hop around the room holding my battered foot, trying not to wake Luke. Thankfully, he sleeps like he’s dead and clutches my pillow in my absence.

I put my glasses on but seeing him clearly in the low light seeping through the curtains makes the want burn even brighter. My gaze is glued to his dumb face. A shadow of stubble lines his jaw and his hair that usually is so neatly mussed is now wild and damp from his shower. All I want to do is lie down again. Feel his mouth moving against my neck—

Holy hell, I need to get out of here.

I shove my feet into my boots and grab the key to the room. Slipping out the door, I let it lock behind me and make my way back to the tavern.

Since the crash, I’ve tried everything to drown the memories out. Luckily, I realized early on that alcohol is a temporary fix at best. At worst, it can ruin you. But the only thing I long for to clear my head is a cold, bitter beer.

“What can I get ya?” the same bartender as before asks.

“What do you have that’s not blood?”

He laughs. “How about an ale?”

“Perfect.”

It turns out they don’t only have blood on draft, as he tips a pint glass under a spout and fills it with amber liquid. He winks before going back to wiping down the counter.