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“Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?”
“Just don’t bring me anything with aliens or outer space, or supernatural stuff. I don’t do ghosts and demons and all that weird shit.”
“Okay.” He chuckles.
“Oh, and don’t bring me anything non-fiction.”
“Fiction. No supernatural or aliens. I think I can work with that. I’ll be back in a few.”
“Thank you,” I call after him seconds before he pulls the door closed behind him.
——
“HEY.” I GLANCE UP FROMthe book I’m reading as Mateo enters my room. He’s a sight for sore eyes after nearly a day and a half of not seeing him.
In some weird way, now that he’s back I feel like I can breathe again.
“Hey.” I sit further up in bed, turning my book face down and dropping it onto the stand next to me. “Where have you been?” I ask as he closes the door and crosses the room toward me.
“Sorry, things have been crazy.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Everything okay?” I ask, patting the bed next to me as I scoot to make room for him to sit down.
“I wouldn’t say okay.” He slides in next to me, propping his back against the headboard as he stretches his long legs out in front of himself.
“Uh oh. What’s wrong?”
“Can we not talk about it?” His request shouldn’t surprise me. He isn’t very forthcoming about things taking place inside his cartel.
I can’t help but notice that he looks exhausted.
“Okay.” I freeze when he rolls onto his side and curls into me, his head coming to rest on my chest in a very unexpected move.
I hesitate for a brief moment before wrapping my arm around his shoulders, my other hand going into his hair as I slide my fingers through the silky dark strands.
“I just want to lay here with you if that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
“Tell me about what you’ve been up to.”
“Really?” I snort. “You know what I’ve been up to. Absolutely nothing.”
“You were reading when I came in.”
“Dimitri brought me a book out of your study. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course.” He snuggles deeper, his scent engulfing my senses. I swear, if I could only smell his scent for the rest of my life I’d give up my ability to smell anything else. “What were you reading?”
“The Girl Who Lived. It’s by...” I glance at the cover, but before I have a chance to read the name, he answers for me.
“Christopher Greyson. That’s a good one.”
“I had no idea you liked to read,” I say, remembering him telling me his mom liked to read but never mentioning that he did as well.
“It helps quiet my mind.”
“Yeah, it does do that.”
