Page 82 of Hunt Me

I see Denver’s on his—and there are old Christmas paper snowflakes and small Pride flags that have been taped to the window in front of the closed blinds. It’s weird and endearing, and somehow very much him.

He stops at the door across from his, and I see the name, curling my lips around the sounds without actually making them. Fayid Khaled.

Denver’s finger jabs a small doorbell to the left of the door handle, and behind the closed blinds, I see lights flicker. A moment later, a very tall man answers, wearing a button-up shirt, his dark-rimmed glasses sitting low on his nose. He has dark, shaggy curls that look like he’s been running his hands through them and light brown skin.

He’s very good-looking, which bothers me, but he doesn’t smile at Denver in a way that makes my skin uncomfortable and itchy. And then his grin fades when his eyes catch on me.

‘This is Archie?’ His signs are different from the way Denver moves. They’re a little smaller, almost like he’s shy.

Denver nods to his question, then turns to me. ‘I texted him and let him know you were going to keep him company while I get some work done.’

I don’t bother lifting a hand in greeting. The door’s open, so I move into the small space beside Fayid, propping the door open and grabbing a chair, sitting right in the doorway.

He lets out a huff, and he and Denver chat quickly before Denver steps right into my line of sight.

‘Thank you. See you soon.’

‘I can see you now.’

He snorts. It’s cute, making my lips quirk slightly. I have never smiled as much as I do with him.

‘I’ll be done soon, then we can go home,’ he adds, signed small and just between us.

That settles something in my chest. Home. Not officially ours, but it’s starting to feel like it.

I dip my chin and watch his gorgeous ass move away, disappearing into his office, though he doesn’t close the door all the way. I’m satisfied nothing will happen to him while I’m here, even if I can’t actually see him when he’s sitting at his desk.

A hand flicks toward me, and I turn my gaze a moment to look at Fayid.

‘Want drink?’ he offers. He grabs something from a minifridge and pulls out a water.

‘No.’

He nods and settles into his chair, unbothered by how abrupt I am. My eyes move back to Denver’s open door, and I adjust my chair so I can keep an eye on any movement in and out of that space as well as peruse the pages of the book Fayid has open on his desk. I don’t mean to see it, but now that I have, I’m intrigued.

‘Egyptian tombs,’ I sign when he looks over at me and catches me staring.

His eyes glitter, and he nods as he adjusts his glasses. ‘Yes. You like?’

I shift in my seat and shrug. ‘I like ancient burial rituals.’ It’s so much more than that, but I’ve been better about info dumping on total strangers, so I leave it there. ‘You teach about tombs?’

He shakes his head. ‘Art history, but much of that involves burial sites.’ That makes sense to me.

I lean over and see all the notes he’s taking, and I point to the page. ‘For-for?’

His eyes light up even more. ‘I’m working on a research paper about Egyptian tomb paintings.’

‘Why?’

He grins like my questions aren’t annoying. ‘My family Egyptian, but I grew up here. I’ve never been to see where my parents grew up.’ His hands hesitate, and then he shrugs. ‘I want to be part of it and someday take back all the artifacts the British stole.’

I can’t help a small snort, mostly because he gets a look in his eye that I can relate to. Yes, I think I like this friend for Denver. Especially since he doesn’t seem to have any interest in him at all.

Turning back to look at Denver’s door, I see that a student is approaching, and I sit up in my chair a little more. But the girl looks harmless, and I could easily slit her throat, so I relax.

Fayid makes a small noise to get my attention, and I turn back to him. ‘Why you here with Denver?’

I don’t like that question. My first instinct is to tell the truth, but Denver made a good case about why we shouldn’t talk about it. Unfortunately, I typically need time to plan my lies, and itirritates me that I’m being put on the spot. ‘I thought you quiet and not chat-chat.’