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“Hey,” a gruff voice says behind me, and I yip, crashing back against the fridge and whacking my hand on it.
“Shit. Ow.”
“Christ, you okay?” Seth is staring, dark eyes wide, one hand braced on the wall. He pushes off it, reaches for me and staggers drunkenly. “Fuck.”
“Seth, no.” I grab him in time and push him back to the wall. “You shouldn’t be up.”
“Was thirsty,” he mutters, frowning down at me. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“I’m fine.” His eyes are a warm brown, like cinnamon, and the way I’m pressed to his body I can feel how strong he is, feel the hard muscles in his thighs and chest.
Shit. I jerk back.
He lifts a hand to my face, stopping me. “Don’t run.”
Frozen still, caught once more, I don’t know what to say. Why is he saying that? I don’t want to run.
Not sure what I want, in fact. How I feel. We’re friends, right? That’s all.
I pull back until his hand drops away. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
***
When I bring him the water, he has his head turned to the side, a hand shading his eyes. “Light’s too bright,” he murmurs.
I hand him the glass, then go to turn off the overhead light and switch on his small bedside lamp. “Better?”
“Yeah.” He sips at the water, and I catch myself studying his hand, large and strong, an old, white scar running from the wrist down his palm. “Listen…” He puts down the glass on the worn bed-side table and I reach out to steady it. Our hands brush, and I flinch at the spark of heat. “You don’t have to be here. You probably feel like you have to, but you don’t, okay?”
I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Want me to go?”
“No. That’s not… Fuck.” He leans back on the stacked pillows and closes his eyes. “Not what I meant. I like it.”
“What then?”
“You. Here.”
Warmth travels up my chest, and my heart does a weird little flip. Which is plain weird. “Feeling better?”
“Sure.” He’s not convincing, though, and he’s quiet for so long I’m pretty sure he’s dropped back to sleep, when he shifts on the bed with a wince. “Tell me something about yourself.”
I still, muscles tensing. “Something? Like what?”
“Anything you want.” He gives me a faint smile. “I’m not picky. I’d read, but I’m dizzy.”
“I could read to you.”
“Ya know, I read these books ten times over while my leg was in the cast. Besides, I’d rather hear about you. Anything. Your full name. Your favorite color. The last book you read. The places you visited.”
I shake my head, but an answering smile tugs at my lips. “Okay. I can do that, I guess.”
My hands shake a little when I put them in my lap, but in the dimness, with no one looking on, I tell him.
Chapter Seven
Seth
“My name is Madeline Amelie Torres.” She draws a deep breath. “My dad’s from Texas, my mom’s French from Algeria. I’m…”
