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Spinning around, I check the door. The very same one to which I had him pinned against only a few nights ago. I can’t get that fucking image out of my spiralling thoughts. It’s there, fluttery and taunting, making me remember how his handsome face had looked up to me. How he’d smelled, and felt in my tightening grip. The thought of him makes my skin burn with unwelcome desire, for which he’ll pay.
“Phoenix?” She slurs. She, who hurtsmypersonal ragdoll. He didn’t exactly admit to that, but his embarrassed silence had spoken volumes. What the hell’s going on in this family? Before I can second-guess my intentions, I’ve already turned the key and unlocked the door.
The corridor is painted in an undefined, dark color, making it feel even more narrow. It smothers my senses, as claustrophobia creeps up inside my system. The door to the bathroom is ajar, the light on. Moving forward on the tip of my toes, I peek inside, but find it empty. Any hope that Phoenix is out here, resurfaces when I focus on the other side of the hall instead. A woman’s sitting at a round kitchen table, her back toward me, watching some show from a small tv while drinking from a can of beer. Wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her night robe, she takes a drag from her cigarette.
“Phoenix!” She slurs again. “You lazy boy. We ran out of drinks. You hear me?” She’s on the phone, I see now. I imagine Phoenix, wherever he is, with his phone against his ear, listening to his mother’s rambling. I think of my own mom, who manages a huge family and condo, and her loving, carefree self. How different this house is.Thisis not a home. “Goddamnit!” The woman drops the phone on the table, then tries to stand. It takes her an unhealthy amount of time to get out of her seat, but when she does, she turns around. Our eyes meet. Hers are dark and glossy, but she still manages to narrow her gaze. “Who are you?”
“A friend,” I lie.
“Afriend?” She barks out an unhinged laugh. “We don’t have any friends.” Planting her hands behind her on the table, she nearly knocks over the ashtray. “How did you get in?”
I raise my brows, pointing my finger at her. “Well, you let me in. Opened the door for me.”
“I did?” I can see her search her blurry memory, and use that moment of weakness to ask, "What time is Phoenix going to be home?”
She still eyes me with curiosity, though the idea that she may have opened the door herself to let me in, has taken out the hostility. “Soon,” she slurs.
I nod at that, then point to the door. “I’ll wait for him in his room, okay?” Without waiting for her answer, I walk back to the corridor, where I let out a restrained puff of air. Fuck, that was weird.
I listen to her silence. After a few minutes, she starts rummaging around, mumbling to herself as she shuffles around the kitchen. She opens the fridge, then lets out a string of curses, before I hear the sizzling sound of another opened can. Why does Phoenix live with his abusive, addicted mom? He’s an adult, for fuck’s sake. This whole visit brings up more questions than answers.
Once I’m back in the darkness of Phoenix’s room, I light up his vanilla-scented candle and inhale deeply through my nose, taking a piece of him with me. Because I really should get going. Technically I shouldn’t have been here in the first place. But when he gets home, his mom will tell him that I was here. The threat has been placed. He will know that I can get in, and out of his home, whenever I like. After all, I've done it not once, but twice.
Thunder rumbles in the distance and the rain has picked up, pattering against the windows with an increasing staccato. When the next lightning flashes, it illuminates a face in the window.Hisface. My stomach somersaults, because his sudden presence surprises me, and because I’ve clearly run out of time.
Might as well steal a kiss.
Slender fingers curl under the wooden frame and tilt the glass up. A whoosh of chilly, rainy air blows inside, all together with a dripping wet Phoenix. Once he’s made his way in, he carefully closes the window, then lowers his hoodie, revealing how his wet curls are plastered onto his head.
I can hear his chattering teeth from here, the way he stands there, an angel of loneliness, as he eyes the candle in surprise. I take that as my cue to step out of the darkness and into his view.
“Kai?” His eyes widen, trepidation creeping into his tone. It only takes a few seconds for his initial bewilderment to change into something else. It’s not quite fear, because he tilts his head, presses his lips together and pushes out his chest. It’s… fuccckkk… it’s fierce and I love it. How I’d love to chase this guy down. Not tonight though, not in this small space that’s his.
“Hi there, baby mouse. Told you I’d come back.” Ignoring how beautifully the way my name tumbles from his puffy lips, I hold out the paper bag. “Here, I got you something.”
“What’s that?” But his body knows, because it trembles when I place the sandwiches and chocolate onto the desk. His stare flickers, filled with pride, but his lips quiver. He’s starving, I can see it.
“That’s for you.” I grab the closest bar and toss it in his direction. “Eat. Then shower. There’s no fun in tormenting a guy who looks more like a wet puppy.” He only hesitates for a beat, before he grabs the closest bar, tears off the wrapper and shoves half of it in his mouth, then turns away, not wanting me to see.Him. My chest tightens. He chews and chews, and only when he’s finally finished, does he turn back. “Good," I bark. "Now shower.” He grinds his jaw impossibly tight, eyes shooting daggers, but when I point at the door, he grunts, then leaves with his head held high. It’s one hell of a sight.
Maybe it’s me who needs this time-out. Because I’m caught in a string of stupidities that Phoenix seems to provoke every, fucking time I see him. And that includes standing by his window with nothing more than the flicker of his candle, as I wait for him to return from his shower. The outside view is wet and vague, yet the poverty-laced buildings are crystal clear. It somehow makes me feel sad for him. And that peculiar feeling pours down into fury, because it’s easier.
When the door opens on a creak, Phoenix walks in, smelling like a vanilla cookie. His slender limbs are wrapped in another pair of sweats, and the zip-up hoodie is pulled over his gorgeous strands. His shoulders are hunched in dread as he eyes me suspiciously. The silence lingers, and a range of emotions flicker through his charcoal stare. I recognize some, because I feel them too.
He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out apart from a puff of air. Scratching his shoulder awkwardly, he whips his head to the door behind him. “You want to drink something?” Such a casual question, yet it feels so loaded coming from him. I get the impression that he’s never asked anyone before, let alone the mobster thug who claims to be hunting him down. I’ve been shadowing the guy for a few weeks now, but never has he had anyone up here. Not wanting him to go and see his mother, I ignore his question. Instead I grab both a sandwich and a chocolate bar in my hand, then gesture to the bed. “Go and sit under the blankets. Sandwich or chocolate?”
He stalls on a delicate sniff, face flushing. “Nothing. I want nothing from you.” And I watch, laving in every ripple of emotion that flicks through his eyes and frame. He’s quite a bit smaller than my six two, probably about the same size as Vic. But he compensates his shorter build with pride.
“Nothing, huh?”
“I want you out of my room,” he counters. I spit out a laugh, rubbing my bottom lip with my thumb while I take him in. When my laugh dies, I jut my chin toward the bed.
“Bed.”
“No.”
“Bed,” I growl.
“No!” His stance widens, taking a stronger position. He’s infuriated, eyes scorching through the dim light. His arms cross in front of his chest, and he’s breathing hard. But he can’t hide that same doubt, that same wonder that I’m feeling. So I change the subject on a whim, using his fury to my own advantage. “Why’s your mom a drunk?”
