The Dirt on Ninth Grave(33)

He walked to a small kitchenette, poured me a cup of coffee, and doctored it without asking me how I took it. Not that it mattered. My answer would have been "Any way I can get it."



My Pavlovian response kicked in at the smell, at the sound of the spoon clinking against the ceramic cup, at the steam billowing over the sides of it, and I had to swallow my enthusiasm. I'd put the sandwiches on a rickety table and was scrubbing my hair with the towel when he handed me the mug and gestured for me to sit. He sat on the other side, then stretched his long legs out and crossed them at the ankles, his motorcycle boots making a clunking sound.



The whole thing was so casual, so everyday, it felt oddly comforting. I wasn't sure what I expected, but everyday did not make the list. Sadly, clandestine orgies and human sacrifice did.



"Thanks," I said, taking a sip. Then I tried not to moan. I had no idea if I succeeded, I was so lost in the moment.



He wrapped strong fingers around his glass and examined it, but only for a second before turning his attention back to me.



I cleared my throat, then asked, "How long have you been staying at a motel?"



"Few weeks."



I nodded. Took another sip. "Do you like it?"



"It's a bed."



I nodded again and looked around, mostly to keep my wayward gaze from locking on to his chest. He had clothes draped over a third chair in a corner, clothes I'd seen him wear often, simple yet exquisitely tailored. The bathroom light was on, and I saw a few manly toiletries, but nothing extravagant. And the bed looked like it had been made before someone lay across it. Before Reyes lay across it.



"How long are you planning on staying?"



"Long as it takes."



"As long as what takes?" Was he a temp of some kind? Perhaps a construction worker or professional assassin?



"My business."



"Oh." Clearly he had no intention of elaborating. "What do you think of the town? Do you like it here?"



That time, he thought about his answer more thoroughly. When he spoke, it was with a singular intensity. "I like some of the people in it."



I brightened. "Me, too. I love Cookie, the woman I work with, and her husband, Bobert." When he raised a questioning brow, I amended the name. "Robert, actually. I just call him Bobert. And I like Dixie, my boss. She's so great."



"And the cop?"



His questions surprised me. "The cop?"



He dropped his gaze back to the glass. "Your boyfriend."



"Ian?" I asked, taken aback. "He's not my boyfriend."



"You're always with him."




 

 



My eyes rolled of their own accord. "No, he is always with me. Big difference."



"Then tell him to get lost."



Who was he to tell me what to do? I stood, utterly annoyed. "I'll tell him when I'm good and ready. What do you care, anyway? You have throngs of women throwing themselves at you. Have you told any of them to get lost?"



"Throngs?" he asked, eyeing me as I picked up the sandwiches and headed for the door.



"And why did you invite me in here when you're in a relationship?"



"I'm in a relationship?"



I turned. As if he didn't know. "You're seeing Francie."



"I'm not seeing anyone. And who the hell is Francie?"



"The waitress at the café? The gorgeous redhead with legs as long as the L train?" When he continued to frown, I added, "You always sit in her section? She serves you coffee and giggles every time you look her way?"



He shook his head. "No clue."



Even though he had to be lying, his answer made me much happier than it should have. Then reality sank in. "Wait, she told me where you live. She implied that she'd visited. More than once. Described the carpet even."



"Then she's breaking and entering." He took another swig. "Would it bother you if she had visited?"



I snorted. "Not even." I'd planned on storming out, but my curiosity got the better of me. I strolled to his nightstand. Ran my fingers along a Rolex. He must have met Scooter, too, though his looked way more authentic than mine. "So, why are you living in a motel?"



I felt a slight bristle come off him.



"I was …  seeing someone."



A soft gasp escaped me. No idea why that would surprise me. "Was?"



"She left me. No good-bye. No note. Nothing. Just vanished into thin air. I had nowhere else to go."



I sat on the side of the bed. "I'm sorry, Reyes. When did that happen?"



"A while back. I'll get over it. I have no choice. She's forgotten all about me."