The Dirt on Ninth Grave(90)

"You made your bed?" It was perfectly made up. He'd answered the door immediately. How did he have time to make his bed?




 

 



"Nah, I just slept on top." The last time I'd been in this room, the covers were mussed from him lying on it. That bed had not been lain on. "Are you okay?"



I stood looking at the collection of books piled on his nightstand. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"



He sat at the small table and watched me. Like always. "Just making sure. You seem tired."



Crap. I knew it. "I didn't get much sleep."



He leaned back, tilting his chair against the wall, and folded an arm behind his head. "Anything wrong?"



I turned and sat on the side of the bed. "Not at all. Are you okay?" I asked because, on the way home from Erin's, I could've sworn I saw him across the street from her house. I did a double take and he was gone. Like always.



"Peachy," he said, and I almost laughed. I would never have pictured him using the word peachy to describe anyone, much less himself.



We talked for about half an hour. It was nice, but he had to get to work soon. I checked my watch. "I'll let you get ready for work. I have the day off, so -"



"You don't have to go." He stood and started for the bathroom. "I'll just be a minute."



"Um  –  Okay."



His sexy mouth tilted sideways as he unbuttoned his jeans without closing the door between us. I froze, my gaze laser-locked onto his crotch, before sucking in a sharp breath and whirling away from him. I heard a soft chuckle. Pants hitting the floor. Shower water coming on. I peeked over my shoulder. He'd pulled the white curtain closed. Damn it. I stared hopefully at the opaque curtain, but nooooo. I had to be gifted with time travel instead of x-ray vision.



I finished my coffee and walked to his kitchenette, which was oddly not that much smaller than my kitchen. And he had glasses. Like four. I thought about stealing one, but what kind of person would that make me?



A few minutes later, he strolled out with one towel around his waist and another around his shoulders. He was using that one to rub his head, obstructing his line of sight, so I took the opportunity to gape in honor of women everywhere who'd never get the chance.



When he dropped the towel back and shook his head, my knees almost gave beneath me.



"Oh, you already have one," I said when he looked at me.



He glanced around. "One what?"



"A towel. I was going to get you one for Christmas." 



He chuckled. "Yeah, well, it's not really mine. The motel frowns when I steal them."



"Good. They should. I frown when you steal them, too. But what about the glasses? Are they the motel's? I hear the penalty isn't as harsh for glass thieves."



He sobered. "Do you need glasses?"



"Nope. Five by five, baby." When his mouth thinned, I said, "Mine broke last night."



"All of them?"



"Oh, no." I laughed. "I only had one."



"You only had one glass?" he asked, taking all four off the counter.



"Yeah. It's not like glasses grow on trees." He searched for something to put them in. "Reyes, I was only kidding. I don't need your glasses. I have two plastic cups. And coffee cups out the ass. Not sure how that happened."



He looked down at them. "These aren't that great anyway. I'll get you some at the store today."



I chuckled. "Really. I can get a couple of chipped ones from Dixie. It's all good."



He'd grown serious. The glass thing really seemed to bother him.



With head still lowered, he said, "I have to let you find your way."



I felt guilt waft off him. Guilt and frustration.



"What do you mean?"



He worked his jaw. "You have to understand, it goes against every fiber of my being. But I have to let you navigate the terrain on your own."



What was he getting at? That he knew more about me than he was letting on? That he was following me but couldn't interfere? "Were you there last night?" I asked him point-blank. "Were you at Erin's?"



He put the glasses back and said without turning to face me, "No."



He was lying. He had to be. I saw him. "I have to get Mable's car back."



"Wait," he said, but I was already out the door. He'd been there. And if not him, then Garrett or Osh. They'd been tag-teaming, following me around. They knew more than they were saying.



I gulped huge rations of icy air when it hit me in the face. It was like plunging into the Arctic Ocean. I hurried to climb into the driver's side, fumbling in Reyes's coat pocket for the key.