Page 43 of Shallow River

Page List


Font:  

I’m getting his seats wet and it stinks of stale piss.

“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, staring down at my damp lap.

“Don’t be, this isn’t your fault,” he says softly, though there’s a razor-sharp edge to it. “The seats are leather and easy to clean.”

“This is still humiliating despite your shitty story, but yeah, I guess that helps,” I mutter, offering a small smile to take away any sting. I appreciated that story more than he’ll ever know.

“Will you tell me what happened?” he asks gently as he peels away from the curb and away from my worst nightmare.

I shake my head. “Not right now. I just want to get clean,” I say quietly.

“Okay, I understand.”

I’M FRESHLY SHOWERED, AND just a little high on pain killers. When Mako wasn’t looking, I popped another. I’m pissed enough that I’m cool with getting high.

I’m settled on his plush couch and Shark Week is playing on low. I don’t much like couches right now, but it’s soft and comfortable. Mako is sitting next to me, making sure my body is positioned in a way that causes me the least amount of pain.

The attention he’s giving me is… disconcerting. Ryan just plopped me on the couch and that was that.

“Do you need any rash cream?” he asks.

Did he seriously just—I can’t believe I was just asked if I need rash cream. By a devastatingly beautiful man, nonetheless. I didn’t think I could sink any lower.

Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I cover my face with hands.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I mumble through my makeshift barrier. His fingers pick at my good hand—pulling them away one by one and shooting little currents through each finger. I don’t like the way his skin on my skin feels. It’s feels too… good.

I pull my hand from his grip, but I don’t have the lady balls to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, lifting my chin until I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Nothing about what happened tonight is your fault. It doesn’t take a genius to know you were left alone and couldn’t get up.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not humiliating,” I grumble.

He nods his head slowly. “I get it, apparently my shitty story wasn’t enough. Will it help if tell you that the smell of pee is a fetish of mine?” he asks seriously. I rear back with disgust.

“It is not! That’s repulsive.”

He cracks a smile and shrugs a shoulder. When he gets up and walks towards the kitchen without defending himself, I grow worried that he wasn’t joking. “Oh, my god, is it really a fetish?”

The living room and kitchen is an open floor plan. The house is pretty bare, but apparently, he just moved in. Even though it doesn’t look very lived in, it’s beautiful. Gray wooden floors, pale sage walls with an accented black wall, and black furniture. His coffee table looks like a large rock. His kitchen has black cabinets, a gray and white backsplash with sage accents and light gray countertops.

He’s got good taste. I dig it.

Mako is rummaging around in the fridge with his back to me, but I can see his shoulders shaking with mirth. The light glints against his tattoos. Without permission, my mouth opens, the questions resting at the tip of my tongue. So badly, I want to ask their meaning. From my spot on the couch, I can see intricate details of a red blooming rose among wilted, blackened roses. The bright light shining against the ashes. Something about it draws me in. He finishes pouring himself a glass of milk—only psycho’s drink milk—and turns to me. That one look, staring at me with emotions I won’t dare decipher, I chicken out.

Instead, “You’re laughing at me,” I deadpan.

He turns and a beautiful smile is on his face. “If it means I get to be more humiliated than you, then no, I’m not joking.”

“But… that’s… that’s not how that works,” I finally get out. What is this feeling? I’m actually touched by the notion that he’d rather demean himself just to make me feel better. Even if it’s obvious it’s a lie, it’s still kind of… cute. Oddly. I wrinkle my nose.

He pulls a serious face. “I think your pee smells like roses.”

My mouth parts in a perfect O. What the hell is wrong with this man?

Another casual should shrug. “A lot,” he answers.

I hadn’t even realized I voiced that question out loud.


Tags: H.D. Carlton Dark