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You mean that prick, Braulio? He shagged me four weeks ago and I haven’t seen him since. Not one word. Like he dropped off the face of the fucking dimensional world. Again. Asshole. But why the hell am I telling you this?
Vela heard Endelle’s concern, despite her invective, so she asked, Do you think he’s in some kind of trouble?
He’s a goddamn fucking Sixth ascender. The only kind of trouble he could get into is with his dick, so no, I don’t think he’s in trouble, unless of course he shows his face around here again, then I might just destroy all of Metro Phoenix Two making sure I roast his ass.
Note to self. Never mention Braulio again.
Okay, Vela sent. Got it. Anyway, Merl wants us to stick around. He has to talk to his fellow refugees to decide how to move forward.
Endelle fell silent and was so quiet that if Vela hadn’t known better, she would swear she’d ended the conversation. But Vela waited and finally Endelle said,
Since you and Samuel trust him, and I have no way of knowing what he can do for you at this point, we’d better ride this mule. Just keep me informed.
Vela would have said a polite ‘yes, of course I will’ or maybe offered a ‘good-bye’, but a sudden break, that sent a brisk shard of pain striking the center of her brain, told her the telepathic call was over.
She took a few more deep breaths until the pain faded then turned to her sandwich idea only to find the fridge empty except for an old dehydrated pizza in a grease-stained box. There was also a quart of milk, but she’d rather shoot herself than do a sniff test.
She twisted her hair around her hand, looked at it, then folded a large clip into her hand. She secured the upper curly- wavy mass into the clip. The last thing she wanted was her ridiculous hair in her food.
Back to her task, she saw that plenty of beer lined the entire middle shelf, so she pulled out two bottles of Guinness, closed the door, then proceeded to fold food from her home fridge onto the counter; sour dough, sharp cheddar, ham, a ripe tomato, bell pepper and a stick of butter. She sliced the vegetables super thin, layered the meat, vegetables, and cheese on the bread, and with butter now sizzling in the large frying pan, started grilling three sets.
She smiled as she worked, sipping the brew between tasks. She remembered how much her husband liked these sandwiches, something she often fixed for him when he’d return from a night’s battling. Then he’d make love to her. What a good man he’d been, irritating at times as all men were, but he’d loved her and told her often. A woman didn’t need much more than that from her man, not really.
She put a finger gently beneath each eye and caught her tears, but she also realized that a year ago, she would have dropped to the floor sobbing all over again at what she’d lost.
Maybe the fifth year had finally softened the pain.
Maybe.
When she heard singing coming from way down the hall, she laughed. Samuel so could not carry a tune.
By the time the cheese had melted and the crust was grilled to a perfect golden color, Samuel walked into the kitchen. “You don’t know how good that smells. Oh, your hair looks nice like that.
Pulled back. ” She turned with two plates in her hands and looked him up and down. He wore jeans and an olive green t-shirt, snug across his muscled shoulders and chest.
He looked gorgeous, even down to his bare feet. She blinked a couple of times, then said, “Guess which one is yours. ” She’d cut all three sandwiches in half, placed a half on her plate, and stacked the rest on his.
He reached out his hands and relieved her of the heavier plate, planted his butt on the closest stool, and started to eat.
His eyes kept rolling back in his head. “You’re a genius. ” He repeated the compliment more than once.
Vela brought him his beer shaking her head. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in years, which reminded her not just of what he’d been through in the past decade but that he hadn’t had a woman in his life in a long time. Unless a man liked to cook, his fridge usually looked like Merl’s and take-out was the order of the day.
By the time he finished, he turned to her. “I’m sorry. I wolfed that down. It was just so good. But my God you can cook. ” She started to laugh and couldn’t seem to stop.
“What’s so funny?” Between chuckles, she somehow managed to say, “I grilled you a couple of sandwiches. That’s all. ” He smiled as well. “What can I say. I usually order pizza. ”
“That’s what I thought. Your pal, Merl, does the same. ” He glanced around at the plates.
“What do you mean? There’s bread and a couple of tomatoes—”
“Oh, no. This stuff I folded from my house. ” He met her gaze, one elbow on the counter, the kitchen lights soft on his features. “Thank you. I haven’t had such a nice, home-cooked meal in a long time. ” She met his gaze, his smoky gray eyes, and in a slow wave, what had begun at the workout center moved through her, catching up her breath then letting it fall.
His pupils dilated and his lips parted. His scent, almost absent while he ate, now flooded the space between them.
She could feel his thoughts like a caress on her skin. Her gaze drifted to his throat and her earlier desire returned. She trembled.
“How long has it been since you’ve taken the vein?” his deep voice had grown deeper, a sound that reached inside her chest and squeezed the air from her lungs.
