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After letting out a short laugh, he grabbed the hem and began to pull the cotton over his head. “One second, it’sput your shirt on, the next, it’stake your shirt off. You seriously need to make up your mind, woman.”
Pausing to look directly into his eyes, I said, “Take off your shirt, Lucian.”
One of his eyebrows perked in interest, and he tossed the shirt toward the floor.
I started to dry his torso, and he let me, watching me the whole time.
Finally, he glanced up toward the ceiling and confessed, “I told you it wasn’t all about you.” When I paused my ministrations to look at his face, he shrugged and lowered his gaze to me. “Whenever you’re not there,” he started quietly, “like, not physicallyrightthere…”
Shaking his head, he sent me an apologetic glance. “I can’t breathe right. My chest gets tight, all this nervous energy fills me, and I can’t stop checking the time until I can get off my shift or leave whatever I’m doing just so I can go see—with my own eyes—that you’re okay and haven’t been taken again. That basement fucked me up, Chlo. And maybe you’re okay now and don’t need me to come around anymore and keep you company, butI’mnot. I’m not okay, and I just…I need to be able to keep coming back here and be with you each night to reassure myself that you’re still safe. I just need that for a little while longer, alright?”
Tossing the towel on the floor, I whispered, “Okay,” and I crawled up close to him, giving him a big hug. “You can keep coming over.”
When he hugged me back and coaxed us into lying down like that, I pressed my cheek to his chest and exhaled. “And just for the record. I’m not alright either.” Running my hand over his bare arm, I added, “I just reallywantedto be, so I tried to convince myself I was.”
“I figured,” he murmured and kissed my hair. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Admitting you can’t handle the weight of the world.”
I sniffed and closed my eyes. “You’re telling me.”
He tightened his arm fractionally as if wanting to pull me closer, and for a minute, we were both quiet.
Then, just before I dropped off to sleep again, he slurred, “Just so you’re aware… The way you told me to take my shirt off and called me Lucian was fucking hot, so I’m probably going to have a severe case of morning wood come daylight.”
I smiled without opening my eyes and cuddled closer. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”
“Well, in that case…” He cleared his throat. “I may have started a little early.Nightwood, if you will.”
My eyes flashed open. When I saw a distinct lump in the blanket covering his lap area less than two feet in front of me, I lifted my head and looked up at his face.
All he did was shrug in ahey, dicks will be dickskind of way.
He was so pragmatic about it. As if it were nothing.
If he’d reacted differently, made any kind of move toward me, or touched me in the slightest of sensual ways at that moment, I might’ve been a goner, sucked into the passion with him. But nope. He didn’t seem into the idea of me alleviating his condition for him at all.
So I huffed out a sigh and laid my head back on his chest. “Go to bed, Lucian.”
He chuckled and set a hand on my hair. “Altered words. Different tone. But still hot as hell.”
And yet not hot enough for him to even consider pursuing me.
Telling myself I wasn’t disappointed by that, I closed my eyes and went to sleep.
16LUKE
On Saturday, I had the night off, but I went into the bar earlier that afternoon anyway, knowing I’d find my boss in his office.
The place was quiet and dark, and as I made my way through shadows of tables with chairs sitting upside down on them, I tapped my fingers restlessly against my thigh, eager to get this conversation started.
Down the hall, I paused at the manager’s door that was open, and when I peered inside, I saw him sitting behind his wide, wooden desk, head bent as he jotted something on a notepad.
“Hey, Pick?” I called, knocking on the doorframe. “You got a minute?”
He looked up and grinned. “For you? Sure.” Dropping his pen, he clasped his hands together and dropped them onto his abdomen as he sat back in his chair. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if I could alter my schedule a little,” I started, bypassing the seat of the visitor’s chair and instead perching on its armrest.
“Your schedule?” Pick repeated in surprise. “Yourworkschedule?”
