“Cai, I’ll get Begone,” Peter said, ruffling his brother’s hair as I had wanted to do hours ago. “Do what he says.”
“Where’s Darryl?”
Peter turned from the kitchen and looked around, as if my question had just reminded him that our party was missing one person. “Probably still sleeping.”
“No, he went to the hospital,” Rosa informed us. “He said your friend is hurt.”
“It’s Tilda, Rabbit. Darryl saw her on the news,” Cai pointed at my muted TV as all of our heads swiveled to the screen. The news had changed, obviously, but tickers paraded at the bottom announcing the injury count had risen from five to seven. Peter immediately picked up his phone to start texting.
“I need to shower. Badly. Tell Darryl to get here,” I ordered and climbed the stairs, suddenly aware of the sharp pain in my ass, and not at all from what a few days ago I’d assumed would be its cause.
Peter’s Trick
Because of the wounds, I had washed my hair in the sink and was now sponging off the dirt away from the shower’s spray, turning off the water between rinses. Peter’s conversation filled in the quiet spaces.
“Flowers… Tilda loves daffodils… No one else we know?…We can come get you… We don’t have the money to—… He said we could stay here… I don’t know how long. Days maybe? Enough time to get some cash together… Insurance is going to whoever got hurt, Dare. Just set up another gig.”
Doubtful Peter knew that I could hear him speaking on the phone through the bathroom door. Or maybe he didn’t care. But the conversation was battering my already bruised spirit, and I wished I weren’t hearing it.
“Then set up a private one if Kevin thinks it’s too soon. We need the cash!” His whispered hiss slid under the door and sucked the air from the room. My forehead pressed against the tile.
The sponge in my hand released a gush of water meant for a final rinse, but in the heated squeeze of my fist, it drained out unused. I drowned out the rest of the conversation by keeping the shower at full blast and standing out of the jets as I sponged myself clean.
Once finished, I toweled off and harkened back to my discussion with Peter at the hospital. I was trying to find the place where I had incorrectly concluded Peter and I had reached an understanding about us. How could I have been so wrong?
It also reminded me about what he was going to say. Maybe the clue to what had been going on in his head was in the statement the nurse had interrupted: “We could try—”
We could try what? A threesome? We had been talking about my attraction to the doctor. Was that his answer? Was it all about sex with Peter? Maybe I had been reading things into his behavior that I had wanted to see. Maybe I should just forget about it all.
Wrapping the damp towel around my waist, I tucked in the edges and opened the bathroom door. Peter was lying on my bed, arms stretched above him and shirt riding high on his abdomen, exposing the thin trail of hair from bellybutton to waistband. Maybe it was all about sex with me?
“Peter?” His eyes were closed, body still except for the deep rise and fall of his chest.
“Hm?” The sea of blue opened up, tugging at my breath until it surrendered in a heavy exhale.
“Is your friend okay?” Don’t do that ‘gig’. What were you going to say at the hospital? Am I just a means to an end? Today was like reliving the first time I brought him home. Coming out of the shower with him lying on my bed, me pulling clothes on under my towel, avoiding looking at him as if he were the sun and I’d go blind from staring.
“Not really, she had some smoke inhalation problems and burns. But we’ll take care of her. Everyone else we know is okay. Lots of people got hurt from trying to get out too fast. And some cars hit each other in the parking lot.”
The towel fell as I buttoned my khakis, I leaned to pick it up, powerless to stop my gaze from meeting his. “Good,” I whispered, eyes following the curve of his neck. I cleared my throat and tried again, “Good.”
“You like me stretched out on your bed.” The come hither smile wasn’t sexy, it was pure torture for me.
“We have to go,” I replied, ready to throw everything I felt for Peter in the nearest trash and tie up the bag. Let it fester there with my already condemned sanity.
“Why are you pissed?”
“I’m not,” I said, sounding defeated and more tired than I’d felt in years. I was worn out more from my confused status with Peter than because of the fire, my job, Cai and any number of other things combined.
Grabbing a shirt from my closet I whirled around when his palms whispered over my naked back. “Ask me!”