I smile a little, nodding. “Que cuerpazo te cargas.”
But I don’t say it in English, because he doesn’t need to know how attracted to him I am.
I can barely move, though. I’m tired. Slowly, I roll over, sweat covering my stomach.
Hawke’s abs flex as he stares at my body, and then he sits up, sliding a hand down my belly to my…
“It’s smooth down there.” He’s so gentle as he touches, and I want to turn away, a little embarrassed now. “Do you always keep it that way?” he asks.
I want to laugh. “Dylan helped me with something today.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and it’s amazing how he can go from hot to stern in less than a second.
“Don’t be mad,” I tell him. “I just wanted…” I look away. “You said you wanted to see, I just…”
“You did this for me?”
“No,” I reply, sitting up. “I wanted to feel you better. That’s all.”
I try to cover myself, but he just continues to touch, his fingers drifting over my center and inside my thighs, making the skin of my nipples tighten.
It was a good excuse, even if it wasn’t the truth. I can feel everything now.
I can’t stay here, though. I can’t get attached. I sit up and climb off the bed, and I see him still sitting there, staring at me as I get dressed.
“Leave your door unlocked tonight,” he says quietly. “In case I want to taste what my fingers touched.”
My stomach drops, thinking about his tongue inside me, but I steel myself and pull on my jeans.
“Baby steps, Hawke,” I tell him. “You still haven’t kissed me here.”
And I grin playfully, covering my tits with my arms and twisting in a little dance.
But he’s not smiling. He pushes up and comes over to the edge of the bed, taking my face in his hand. “And I still haven’t kissed you here.” And he brushes over my lips with his thumb.
I stare at him, my heart pounding so hard I hear it in my ears.
Oh. That.
I’m not sure he’s tried, but neither have I, and I think we both know why. It wasn’t part of our mutual ‘touching and let’s pleasure and distract each other’ agreement.
He doesn’t press, though. He backs up and rolls off the other side of the bed, grabbing his bath towel and some clean clothes.
I pull on one of his T-shirts. “He was behind the mirror, wasn’t he?” I ask him. “He was watching them.”
Hawke stops and looks over at me.
“He wasn’t dead,” I clarify. “The guy who was obsessed with her and prompted their revenge.”
It’s an urban legend, after all. There’s always a catch.
Hawke finally shrugs. “Some people say,” he tells me. “And others think he’s the one who fucked her.”
I widen my eyes. I hadn’t thought of that. If they wore masks, like thieves and criminals do, she wouldn’t have known.
Hawke just sighs. “I don’t know if we’ll ever find out which one pinned her that night and which one was watching.”
But we do know one thing. If he wasn’t dead, and his friend didn’t kill her, then the story didn’t end there.
He didn’t come into my room that night, but the next day, he wanted me with him nearly every minute.
“You should be safe here.” Hawke turns off the bike, and we both climb off. “You can walk around a little if you want, but keep your hat on and your head down.” He speaks extra slow like I’m five. “I’ll call when I’m on my way out.”
I nod once, a small smile spreading his mouth as he turns and heads for the administration building.
Or at least that’s what he said it was called.
College starts for him soon, and he needs to meet with his advisor, which he was tempted not to do, but we needed to get out of the tower. The silence this morning was awkward, after last night.
Has he never dry-humped anyone? Maybe it went too far. But I don’t think I should ask. I mean, it’s not like we can take it back.
And what did he mean by ‘You know you’re not alone in there, right?’ At first, I thought it was a joke, but after that story, I’m not sure what to think. Those phones are more than twenty years old, and Rivertown—or Frosted—could have easily been townhomes then. She could’ve been babysitting a family who lived there all those years ago, but there are so many questions. Was the hideout part of the house or something the owners didn’t know about? And if they didn’t know, how did the boys from Weston know about it?
Why call it Carnival Tower, and if these people are still alive, they’d only be in their late thirties or early forties, so are they still out there? Do they still think the tower is theirs?