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“Emerson?” The question sounded more like a plea.
“Fine,” I snapped, making my decision. “Now back up.”
He pulled away from me, his eyes searching my face. I wondered if he could see my pulse pounding in my throat. I could feel it. I needed to think, and when he was close to me, thinking was impossible.
“Please don’t misunderstand … I’m only trying to …” With his fingertips still on the edge of the dresser, he closed his eyes, struggling with his words.
Seeing an escape, I ducked under his arm. There were some advantages to being short. “Trying to what? Scare me? Piss me off?”
“I didn’t mean to do either of those things.” He pushed away from the dresser to face me. “I’m so—”
“Stop.” I cut him off before he could say anything else. “Whether you meant to or not, you did. And now you should probably go.”
I didn’t want to hear an apology. I just wanted him out.
Our eyes met again, and unspoken words hung in the atmosphere. His face was a strange mix of emotions—the set of his mouth angry, his expression regretful.
“Was there something else?” I asked, and then held my breath. He shook his head and left my bedroom without saying another word.
The front door to the loft opened and closed before I exhaled.
Chapter 11
Michael moved in the next day.
I could hear him shuffling things around next door. The walls of the building were well insulated, but the weather was crisp and sunny, and we had both opened our windows. The loft Dru gave him shared a bedroom wall with mine.
Magnificent. I could already imagine trying to sleep knowing he was practically lying beside me. Even though he’d made me furious yesterday, I couldn’t deny that the attraction still existed.
I was an idiot.
The sound of John Lee Hooker and his guitar floated from Michael’s room through my window. So much in common—I loved the blues, too. I sat on my bed to listen to the music, watching the shifting shadows cast on my floor by the leaves from the oak outside my window. It was a beautiful afternoon, perfect for hanging out at the lake and grabbing the last bit of warmth before the weather turned cold. If you were a normal teenager. Since I’d left normal behind a lifetime ago, I stayed at home, trapped with my thoughts.
Even though I promised Michael to mind my own business, I was tempted to resume my Internet search on the Hourglass. Liam Ballard died under mysterious circumstances, and Michael didn’t want me asking questions. Why? What was he hiding?
I looked at Dru’s laptop, still on the ottoman, mocking me. Would I break my promise if I touched the power button and looked at what popped up on the screen?
I reached toward the computer, and Jack appeared in front of me. I almost yelped in surprise, but the open window and the thought of Michael possibly hearing stopped me. Since I was alone, and lonely, I figured a conversation with a dead guy wouldn’t be a horrible way to pass the afternoon.
“Hello.” His voice still sounded smooth, cultured.
“What’s up?”
“What’s … up?” Jack asked.
“Never mind,” I said as I walked to the window to slide it shut. I leaned back and rested my bottom against the sill. “I meant, how are you?”
“Better than you appear to be.”
“Yes,” I sighed deeply, “but don’t feel too good about it. Better than me is not a hard thing to accomplish.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that at all.” Jack folded his hands together behind his back. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” I asked. I held out my arms and looked from my feet to the tips of my fingers.
He pulled his head back in dismay before he erupted into warm, contagious laughter. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing with him.
“Your size makes you seem delicate, like a spiderweb. But the wise fly knows that delicate can also be strong.”
