Page 46 of Housesitter

“So,” he said. “How come you didn’t talk to Bernie?”

Kel yanked the door to the wardrobe open, glared at the empty space, and then wedged it shut again.

“Because if this relationship is going to work, you have to pull your own weight,” he said. “Besides, it wouldn’t work on Bernie.”

“It.”

Kel stopped the search long enough to look at him. He shrugged awkwardly. “You know what I mean. It. The smoke. The…magic. I don’t know how I could tell, but it could. Whatever it needs to work, she didn’t have it. Does it matter? I was right; you were able to talk her into helping us.”

“Only so far,” Shepherd pointed out. “We still have to convince the other board members.”

“And that is why I have an appointment at the bank tomorrow,” Kel said. “To put a little pressure where it’ll do the most good. Are you sure that doll is downstairs?”

Shepherd rolled his eyes. “How come you can believe in a cursed house and Hell,” he said as he tucked the photo back into his pocket. “But not a haunted doll?”

Kel shuddered. “Because that’s creepy,” he said as he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down. Once they were off, he kicked them in the general direction of the chest of drawers. “Dolls are just…creepy.”

Shepherd watched in appreciation as Kel pulled his T-shirt over his head, all freckled skin and long, lean muscle.

“By the way,” Kel pointed out as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I notice you didn’t argue that this was a relationship?”

Shepherd snorted as he set the photo face down on the dresser. “...of convenience,” he said.

Kel leaned back, arms braced behind him, and legs casually stretched out in front of him. His cock rested against his thigh.

“Don’t kid a kidder,” he said. “I’ve always been more trouble than I’m worth. You like me.”

Shepherd walked over. He stepped in between Kel’s thighs, curled his hand around the back of his neck, and dipped down for a kiss. Kel tilted his face away.

“Admit it,” he said.

Shepherd ran his hand up into Kel’s hair, twisting it around his fingers. “Make me.”

Something pale flickered through Kel’s eyes. A curl of grey that licked at the edges of his near-black irises and then faded back into the whites. Kel swallowed.

“I could,” he said as he shifted his weight onto one arm. He reached up to run his thumb over Shepherd’s mouth, calluses rough as they rubbed over his lips. The quick, easy patter roughened, his voice dropping to a smoky growl that rubbed at Shepherd’s skin. “You’re not like Bernie. I can feel your lies under your skin.”

Shepherd nuzzled his cheek into Kel’s hand.

“Those aren’t lies,” he said. “Those are the truth. No one wants that dragged into the light.”

He put his hands on Kel’s shoulders and pushed him down onto the bed. Kel snorted as he stretched out against the sheets, his hair bright and his skin tone ruddy against the white cotton. He propped himself on his elbows as he watched Shepherd climb onto the bed and straddle long, scarred thighs.

“One truth,” Kel coaxed. One hand slid up the back of Shepherd’s thigh and under his shorts. “Just a little one?”

Shepherd could taste the ‘smoke’ on his tongue, in the back of his sinuses. It had the tang of salt and burned loam that he associated with Hell. There really wasn’t anything there for it to get. Shepherd had secrets, but he didn’t have a soul for it to singe. The cult had docked that when he was a baby. It was like a lamb’s tail; do it early enough, and it didn’t hurt.

Or if it did, you didn’t know any different.

There was something else—something off-putting and real—about the way that Kel looked at him that weakened Shepherd’s resolve. He bit his lower lip and cocked his head to the side as he thought about it.

“I think Easy Harlow might be your grandad,” he said.

There was a pause. He had a second to think that Kel was taking it well. Then Kel pushed him off and scrambled back up into a sitting position.

“What?” Kel spluttered. “The fuck?”

Chapter Twelve