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His breath catches, and he shatters another egg, this time into the bowl itself. My eyes widen, and I cover my mouth to keep in a giggle at the look of frustration on his face. He’s so painfully easy to wind up… It makes me feel better to have a hand in this game.
“I can wear this for you if you’ll have breakfast with me.”
“I don’t want you to wear anything for me,” he snaps.
“I don’t have to,” I say. “Wear anything.”
I’m worried about him breaking his own neck with how fast he looks over his shoulder at me. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I giggle, then whisper-shout, “I did nothing.”
His mouth drops open again, his angel blue eyes saucers in his too perfect face. He wraps his hand around the countertop like he’d give anything to strangle the life out of it. “Lucy…”
His tone changes. My smile drops and I take a small step back, guilt nipping at my heels. I haven’t heard that tone out of him before–not angry, but not amused, either. I can’t pinpoint whether he’s intrigued or disgusted, and I don’t particularly want to find out.
“I’m gonna shower,” I say, escaping before I can make this worse for myself. “If you make enough for both of us, I will be way more likely to actually eat.” I stumble back a few steps, hoping he recognizes I’m not trying to be mean and I’m drowning in panic, in the need to make a joke to keep the mood light.
His signature grunt is contemplative this time, and I hope, even if he’s still battling with himself, I won this war.
“And Ghost?” I say from the door to his bedroom, giving myself half a moment to be bold. To explain, in a way, my frantic playfulness. His eyes are almost pained when he looks back and notices. “I also called you bunny ‘cause I think they’re really cute.”
I disappear into his room before I can see his reaction. It feels kind of nice, being able to tease and play with him. To be willfully oblivious if I’m upsetting him or not, for just a moment. Like my real self is coming back to the surface, the one who can make jokes and flirt and be loud.
Well, loud for me. I lay the dress out on his bed, setting the bags at the foot for future rummaging and ducking into the bathroom. I leave the door open a crack to let out the shower steam and turn on one of the three shower heads.
I wonder if he’ll be annoyed if I sing in here… I would assume the tile probably provides some sound-proofing. Then again, I can hear through his elevator doors. Meh. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Who doesn’t sing in the shower?
The bathroom is literally bigger than his bed. The shower is bigger than my bedroom at Chuck’s house, and there’s even an island full of bath supplies in the middle of the room. Mint green towels sit on top, fresh pressed and smelling like baby powder with a hint of floral undertones. There are a dozen choices of shower gels and shampoos inside, some of them brand new and clearly aimed to please me, and a fresh pack of pink razors tucked by the lotion and loofas.
I ignore all the soaps and grab the black bottle with the silly masculine name for apple crisp. The moment the hot water mixes with the soap on my skin, I’m encased in Ghost’s clean scent, and I let out a long, low moan of contentment.
I tense a moment, wondering if he heard that, if he thinks I’m up to absolutely no good in here. Then I shake myself out of the daydream.
He definitely left the minute I got in here, but I’m not gonna think about that right now.
I’ll let him hurt my feelings when I’m done.
4
GHOST
Cute. Of all the… I watch her sway into my bathroom, pretending I’m unaffected, but knowing full well I’ll be able to hammer nails with my dick before she’s done. Eighteen. I’m far too old to be doing anything with her. She’s too young to be here, to be involved in this life. She’s too young, period. I groan, breathing slowly as I adjust myself.
The mantra doesn’t work any more now than it did all night. Every splash of water echoing out from my shower sends a zing through me, making it fucking impossible to stay focused on cooking, though I still try. I don’t like how quickly she became comfortable enough to give me a nickname. Bunny, at that. If anything, I’m a rabid wolf, bent on devouring souls, right along with her.
Besides which, starving all night because I didn’t—and sleeping on my couch in that T-shirt and the stretch and the dress…
I groan at the ceiling, adjusting myself again before I glide the spatula across the pan a final time. Fucking Murder. I should have looked in the bags before I brought them up. No wonder he was so happy. Smug shit. I will find a way to pay him back for this.
I scrape the eggs onto one plate and freeze. I shouldn’t stay. But I also need to make sure she eats. Two…two plates would be better. Wasteful, but we can’t eat off the same plate. That’s one step away from feeding each other. Well, me feeding her. So many, many ways it could—Fuuuck.
Shaking my head, I wince and adjust myself yet again. This is ridiculous. I snatch another plate out of the cabinet and set it on the counter harder than I should have. Thankfully, it lives to support the half portion of scrambled eggs.
As I wipe out the pan and set it back on the stove, the most beautiful sound reaches my ears. It starts out small, tentative notes dancing along the air. A pause. More splashes. Then louder, drawing me across the loft and before I know it, I’m standing in my bedroom, unable to blink. My heart leaps into my throat, fire melting my veins. I can see Lucy’s foggy reflection—an outline—in my oversized bathroom mirror. Steam rolls across the glass, hiding her while leaving just enough for the imagination to be tantalizing. It’s beautiful. It’s erotic. It’s…art.
Everything I strive for in every single exhibit, is right here, in my bathroom. I have a fleeting thought to harness this feeling, this moment, incorporate it somehow in the next event, but her singing nearly drops me to my knees.
It’s a swooping melody, not one I recognize, but it’s gorgeous. My God, does she know how good she is? So raw and perfect. She deserves to be heard by everyone. I smile. No better stage than my own to showcase hidden talents.
