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ChapterNine
Skye
The couch is horrible.Like, it’s worse than the recliner. I can’t believe Gideon hasn’t gotten the hint yet that he’s reading in my spot. When I hear the crunch of another handful of crackers from across the room, it takes everything I have not to throw my book at him. He finished11/22/63last night. Now he’s reading Dave Grohl’s autobiography.
Yesterday was fun, aside from the fact that he refused to go to the Arch.Been there, done that.He’s probably the kind of reader who doesn’t read a book twice. I don’t do it with every book, but if I love a story enough, or a character enough, chances are I’ll pick a book up a second or even a third time.
I should ask him why he likes music. After all, once you’ve heard a song, it’s not new, so why listen to it again, right?
We drove around some yesterday when we left Tower Grove Park. And yes, every time the Arch was in sight, I pointed it out to him. He probably thinks I did it to be a pain, and while that’s true, it’s kind of just a St. Louis local thing. I pointed out the Botanical Gardens when we drove by; he actually seemed interested, but I didn’t stop. I showed him the public library and a few of my favorite bars and restaurants. He directed me to the street where he works now. The Hep Cat. Didn’t offer to take me inside, but it looked like a cool place.
He left the apartment early this morning. I was in my bedroom, but I heard him leave. When he came back, he was dressed for exercise. I wondered if he had played tennis with someone. I didn’t eat lunch; I was too focused on doing laundry. Dinner was the two of us at the counter again, both of us reading. I bet my steamy Jennifer Ann book was better than Dave Grohl’s book.
With yet another angry sigh, I scoot down so my neck isn’t stretched out over the arm of the couch. I’ll be permanently disfigured if I keep reading like this.
“Why don’t you read something else?” Gideon startles me when he hollers out of the blue.
“What?”
“I don’t know if you’re reading something that makes you angry, or if you’re sexually frustrated because Mel wasn’t the one, but you sigh more when you read than my mom does when she’s passively-aggressively pissed at my dad.”
“Did you—” I sit up and crawl to the end of the couch. I still have to lean way over to see him. He’s sprawled over the loveseat with his feet up on my beloved table. I want to throttle him. He’s watching me, the book in his lap. One hand holds his place, the other messes with his curly hair.
For a second, I’m fixated on his hair, on his fingers running through it. Wonder if it’s as soft as it looks.
“Did I what?” He shrugs and drops his hand to his lap. He’s wearing athletic shorts, and with his feet up, the angle makes his shorts loose on his leg. He’s showing more leg than I’ve ever seen. If I were over there, I could probably see more. Might be able to see the dark hair on his thigh. The cut of muscle under his skin. “Skye?”
“Um.” I blink at him and wonder what I was saying. I’m kneeling on my book, so I tug it from under me and remember his line about sexual frustration. “If you wanna know why I’m frustrated, it’s because you’re in my spot.”
Gideon glances at his bedroom door and looks back at me.
“Was I supposed to be out of here by now?” He sounds confused. “Or do you want me to pay rent? I don’t mind—”
“That corner of the apartment is my favorite reading spot.”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he lowers his feet and scoots to the edge of the cushion. He hesitates, closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Why didn’t you just say so?”
“I did. Just now.”
He stands and closes his book, and I bite back a laugh because he didn’t mark his page. He walks across the open space barefoot, which shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. Dammit.
“Switch me spots,” he says quietly. His forehead is creased in a frown. Is he mad at me for making him move? Mad because he lost his page? Did I interrupt an important part? I scramble to stand before he changes his mind.
“And also?” I walk backwards and point at him. “Don’t put your feet on that table.”
“Why not?” He leans around me and looks at the apothecary cabinet.
“Because it might have belonged to a magician once upon a time.”
“Might have come from Hobby Lobby, too,” he says with an innocent shrug. “Never know.”
“I got it at an estate sale.”
“But where did the estate owner get it?”
“Maybe Europe.”
