“Not going to tell me?”
“A few months.”
Some old horror film was on. From the eighties, if the big hair and spiral perm were any indicators. A pair of barely concealed breasts bounced their way across the screen. A woman screamed.
“This looks good,” Mal said.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“You don’t scare easily, do you?”
“No. Though it does make me sad when Johnny Depp gets turned into tomato soup.”
“Bet it does.” He smiled. “You know, I meant what I said.”
“About what?”
“About you.” He looked straight ahead, never meeting my eyes. The light from the TV lit the angles and planes of his perfect face. “I like you.”
“Thank you, Mal.”
Then why weren’t we having sex? Obviously, he didn’t like-like me. He just liked me, like he’d said.
My mind starting spinning all over again.
“You didn’t say you liked me back,” he prodded, sounding the tiniest bit insecure if my ears weren’t deceiving me.
“Oh, well.” I turned to look at him, squinting, ignoring the screaming still coming from on screen. “You are …”
“I’m what?”
“So …”
“C’mon, pumpkin, you’re taking too long. Spit it out.”
“Very …”
“Fuck it. I’m just gonna compliment myself.”
I sighed long and loud, enjoying this immensely.
“You’re hopeless at this,” he bitched.
“How about stupendous? Does stupendous work for you?”
“Hmm.” He gave me a small, satisfied smile. “Yeah. That’s not bad. I mean, it definitely starts to cover the glory that is me.”
“And egotistical. So very egotistical.”
“You lie.” His fingers danced over my sides, making me giggle and squirm. “I am humble perfection.”
“No. Don’t tickle me.”
“Admit I’m your reason for being. Admit it!” His arm came around me, pulling me back into him as I tried to escape. “Shit, don’t fall off the chair again. I can’t take any more hits to the head to save you.”
“Stop tickling me, then,” I huffed.
“Tickling you. Please. As if I’d be so immature.” A hand came up and gently pushed my head onto his shoulder and the arm around me tightened. “Shh, quiet time now.”
The warm buzz filling me was ten times better than anything alcohol could ever provide. No, a million times better, because it came with the added bonus of smelling and feeling like Mal Ericson.
“Relax,” he said.
“I’m relaxing.” Stuff happened on the big screen. None of it mattered. My eyes drifted closed as I concentrated on him. Whatever his reasons for being here, there was little chance I’d ever get what I wanted. It was the human condition to always want more. That being said, what I had for the moment was pretty damn good.
CHAPTER TWELVE
People were arguing again when I woke up. Only this time, there was no yelling. Heated whispers passed straight over my head.
“Why is my sister asleep on top of you?” asked Lizzy.
“Because I’m her boyfriend,” Mal answered. “Who are you? Anne didn’t say anything about having a sister.”
“She didn’t?”
“No. And how many people have fucking keys to this apartment, anyway? You forget the sliding bolt for a moment and it’s open city.”
“With Skye gone, just me and Lauren as far as I know.”
“Don’t say that name. She gets upset when you mention it. Her eyes go all sad and it totally bums me out.”
“What, Skye?”
“Yeah,” he growled.
“Fine, fine.” A pause. “You’re kinda hot, aren’t you?”
A disinterested grunt.
“I’m not hitting on you, idiot. She’s my sister and this is my suspicious voice. Don’t I know you from somewhere? Your face is very familiar.”
The fingers connected to the big hand cupping my ass tightened. What it was doing there, I had no idea. But did I like it? Yes. Yes I did. I was sleeping on a bed of Mal. Talk about heavenly. I couldn’t even remember falling asleep. Obviously, it had happened sometime during the gory horror movie because we were still on the velvet couch in the living room. My sister was here so it had to be Sunday morning, our day to do our duty and call mom. We always performed this unpleasant task together.
I did not want to move. Not until Wednesday at the very earliest. I was mildly hung over.
But more than that, I didn’t want to get off of Mal.
“What the hell did you do to her? Her lips are all puffy and bruised.”