NINE
Evan
I think he was insecure about his scars.
That was why he had insisted on wearing a hoodie on a flight that was going to land somewhere that would make both of us break out into a sweat in minutes.
I had gotten a peek of some once before, but I had no idea they were as extensive as they were until the TSA agent made him take off his hoodie, leaving him in a simple black tee instead, his arms on full display.
And there were scars.
There were a lot of scars.
Some looked like deep gashes, like maybe the people he had killed had scratched him. Others though, they looked odd. Round. Very perfectly round. And I had the bone-deep feeling that they were cigarette and cigar burns. The skin was raised and puckered like it did with the remains of burns like that. My father had had one on the top of his hand in the triangle between the thumb and forefinger from some gang leader who got their hands on him once.
There were others too, ones that weren't as superficial as the scratches; they looked like gouges had been taken out of his flesh, then left untreated so that the skin had needed to try to grow over the missing spots, not being sewn together with stitches, making them neat.
Painful.
Whatever had done that had to have hurt like a mother.
I couldn't imagine.
And whatever had caused them was obviously not something he wanted to talk about. That was why he kept them covered at all times.
What darkness must he have known?
"Nope," he said suddenly, making me jump, so long lost in my own thoughts that I realized I had followed him on auto-pilot into the plane and down the aisle without noticing.
"Nope, what?"
"Nope, I want the aisle," he clarified, bumping my shoulder, and effectively almost sending me falling into the seat.
"Such a gentleman," I said, rolling my eyes at him as I dropped down.
"That's me, regular fucking Ashley Wilkes. You should know that reference from all your book learning," he added, fastening his seatbelt.
"Gone With the Wind."
"That's the one. Another good flick. If you have four hours to spare."
"You're totally going to make me watch the in-flight movie, aren't you?"
"Well, look at that," he declared, smirking. "We can watch Moana," he said, sounding excited. "And by 'can,' I mean 'will be,'" he declared.
A couple minutes later, we were.
And it was cute.
But I was maybe a little more distracted than I should have been by the fact that we were kinda sharing an armrest, that I could feel his body heat through the material of his sleeve, that he didn't pull away when mine moved there. It was like being sixteen all over again.
Which, apparently, meant I totally had a - and I cringe using this word as a grown ass adult - crush on the strange, scarred, occasionally hilarious, always mysterious, very skilled kisser known as Luce.
Really, there was no denying it.
Not when I was hyper aware of tiny, inconsequential things like his arm brushing mine, his body heat, and the way his eyes danced when he said something funny. That all added up to crush, no matter what way you tried to work the equation.
Smart?
No.
Logical?
Well, of course not.
But there was the feeling nonetheless.
I figured maybe the trip was good. Maybe being around him for a couple days straight in stifling heat while in a somewhat emotionally-charged situation would cure me of it.
Or, you know, maybe we would end up a tangled pile of sweaty limbs after intense world-shattering orgasms.
Either way.
I was willing to take that 'risk.'
"So?" he asked when the movie ended, reaching over to pull my headphones off.
"I want a pig," I declared, making him chuckle. "Puaa means pig in Hawaiian. That didn't take much imagination."
"Like Heifer from Rocko's Modern Life. Oh, yeah," he said, sighing, "I forgot. Your childhood never taught you that r-e-c-y-c-l-e song. How the hell did you ever learn how to spell 'conserve' without that show?"
"Um... a dictionary?" I suggested.
He snorted at that. "Nerd," he accused. "So, from Houston, where are we heading?"
Luce had literally left every little detail of the travel planning to me. I knew he was normally an almost alarmingly meticulous stickler for details in his work, but maybe because this wasn't his work per se, he was alright with riding passenger, and letting me handle all the plans.
"I have a car rental from the airport. It is a five-hour drive from the airport to McAllen where we can crash for the night. We're gonna be beat by then."
"And where are we crashing?"
"Well, I did do my best to try to find a cabin in the woods on a hill with old man vibes, but, alas, Texas is flat and not big on the woods department. Plenty of old men, though. Maybe one will have left his energy in the walls of your hotel room. It is very, ah, southern decor-wise. I'm pretty sure I saw framed pictures of cowboy boots on one of the walls. It's a nice place. And only fifteen minutes from the church you mentioned."
"Sounds good."
"Maybe you'll be able to get some sleep there," I said at the strained silence, making his head snap over to look at me curiously. "Come on, not even all the caffeine can hide the fact that you're not sleeping."
"I go through phases," he evaded, shrugging like it was no big deal.
"Well, maybe a change of scenery will help."
"Yeah, maybe."
There wasn't even a shred of optimism in his voice.
And I couldn't help but wonder what his phases were, what caused them, what made them go away again. Was it simply all the darkness he had involved himself in? Behind his lids when he tried to rest at night, did he see men begging for their lives, taking their last breaths, dead bodies melting in a tub?
These were all questions that would seemingly go unanswered because for the rest of the flight, he cold-shouldered me. He wasn't outwardly all that difference except he kept his focus out toward the aisle so I couldn't catch his eyes to start another conversation.
I had a feeling he was being touchy because I hit a nerve. Maybe between seeing his scars earlier and calling him on his sleeplessness, he was feeling a little exposed. A man like him, living behind his guards, behind his long sleeves and hood, hiding in his woods away from the world, I was pretty sure he wasn't used to having anyone even attempt to get close to him.
I mean, even his private investigator friend Barrett didn't exactly seem like a friend. The two men interacted like two people who used to hang out when they were teens and hadn't seen each other in a decade. They were both equally odd characters, sure, and maybe that had more to do with it than Luce's inability to connect. For all I knew, maybe they watched sports together and hit the town to pick up chicks every week.
That last idea made my belly wobble slightly, completely irrationally, I knew, but it happened none the less.
I needed to get ahold of those crushy-type feelings for the man.
This would prove nearly impossible, though, once we got through a very tense car ride where I drove, and Luce played captain of the radio. This was fine by me because, well, I didn't know any of the damn songs anyway. I could feel Luce's eyes on my profile when a song he must have found particularly popular, poignant, good, or all three, looking for some sign of recognition. When he found none, there was a quiet sighing or tisking.
Other than this, and the occasional directions from the English-sounding GPS lady on my phone, the ride was painfully silent.
We didn't talk.
He didn't make jokes at my expense.
And me, well, I couldn't think of anything to say.
Oh, look, another horse, seemed a bit lame.
The outside of the hotel was a warm sandy-colored stucco, very Spanish villa styled, massive, and there was a fair amount of greenery that I found impressive given the oppressive dry heat.
Me, I had experienced all kinds of heat in my travels.
In my humble opinion, nothing was worse than dry. It pressed down on your chest and made breathing more like an idea than an actuality.
We grabbed our respective bags and moved into the lobby where I let out a snort because, not only was there a framed picture of cowboy boots as I had insinuated, but there was also a framed picture of a cowboy hat, one of a spur, and one of a cactus. Sure, they were kinda modern with bright primary colors, but they were still incredibly, almost offensively southwestern. Were the locals even into things like that? Who knew.
"I'm sorry, Miss Cruz," the young woman at the service desk said, looking up from her computer, looking competent and professional in her crisp white shirt. How she didn't sweat through it on the way to work was beyond me.
The blood thins was something someone once told me in Alabama when I complained about a particularly bad heat wave.
Maybe people who grew up in certain climates weren't as affected by them as people who visited them were.
"But I have you down for one room with two queens, not two rooms with a queen in each."
"What? No," I insisted, shaking my head, feeling like an idiot. "No, that's not possible."
"It can be hard on the online form, ma'am," she went on, looking apologetic and seemingly unconcerned with how my lip curled at the word 'ma'am.' I was hardly a ma'am, damnit. I was still squarely within the miss category. "Those two options are stacked. You probably just hit the wrong button."
Ugh.
I guess that was entirely possible.
"You done fucked up," Luce said, low, leaning on the desk with his back to the woman. It was maybe the first time he spoke directly to me aside from helping me read street signs since the plane. And when my gaze went over, he looked amused at said fuck up.
"Right. I'm sorry for the misunderstanding," I said, giving her a smile. "Is there any way... what?" I asked because halfway into my speech, she was already shaking her head at me.
"I'm sorry, ma'am." Oh, she was really digging her grave with the ma'am shit. I was hot. I was stiff and irritated from travel. My stomach was growling. And I was almost irrationally irritated with the distance between myself and my travel companion. In short, I was grumpy, and I was not in the mood for hospitality nonsense. "There is a convention in our event room this week. We are full-up."
"Of course you are," I grumbled, closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to not flip on her since, sins of the 'ma'am' aside, it was not her fault. "I guess we will go somewhere..."
"Just check us into the room you have us down for, ma'am," Luce said, making my eyes snap open to find his lips twitching, like he knew I was pissy over that word, like he knew exactly what he was doing saying it to the woman who was at least two or three years younger than me.
I had to press my lips together when she immediately stiffened, her smile falling for a beat, before it got replaced by a glacial hospitality-fake one.
"You get grumpy as fuck when you travel, huh?" he asked as she clicked away at her computer.
"Says the guy who has had his panties in a bunch for five hours and wouldn't speak to me. The silent treatment is childish, Luce. In case you weren't aware. If you have a problem with me, you tell me."
I could feel his eyes on my profile, almost surprised he didn't bore holes into my skin with their intensity. But I kept my focus on the woman at the desk as she started her little spiel.
When I was handed the keycards, I thanked her, turned on my heel, and started toward the elevators she had pointed to, not bothering to wait for Luce to see if he was coming or not.
He did, however, catch up and slip into the elevator with me, following me down the hall on our floor.
The room was nice, if a bit unusual. The wall behind the beds was a somewhat bright lime green. The wall where the windows overlooked the pool in the back was covered in fake white bricks. The window dressings were sheers and terra-cotta curtains. The carpet was clean, plush, and a medium brown. The beds each had faux leather brown tufted headboards, white sheets, and comforters of white, the bright lime green, brown, terra-cotta, and aqua. It was almost very beachy considering how far inland we were.
But it was pretty.
And I smelled bleach, disinfectant, and a trace of fabric softener, so it was clean.
That was what mattered most.
I walked over toward the bed closest to the windows, dropping my bag down there, and sitting down on the edge of the bed with a sigh.
I had higher hopes for the trip.
That was silly, maybe. I had based it on one afternoon's interaction in his house, watching TV, eating sandwiches, making plans. It wasn't like I could get a full idea of how a person was from one afternoon.
I just figured, I don't know, that there would be more of his humor, his interesting conversation, something. I didn't expect a complete cold-shoulder. Or having to share a room with someone who was obviously not my biggest fan right about then.
I was vaguely aware of Luce dropping down on the edge of his bed as well, but facing me.
"Alright," he said with a sigh in his voice. "I'm not used to people trying to get to know me, or even giving a fucking shit about anything about me. Even something as small as me being tired." My head swiveled over my shoulder to find him watching me, still in his damn hoodie. As if sensing the thought in my head, he went on. "As for the hoodie and the scars, Ev, that shit is not something I am going to talk about. I'm not the kind of person who opens up. My past is fucked up, and it's ugly, and it has no place in that pretty little head of yours. Because then neither of us will be sleeping. Okay?"
Really, what more could I expect?
We were still practical strangers.
It would be nuts to want more than a vague answer to personal issues.
"Okay," I agreed with a small nod.
"So," he said, smirk pulling at one side of his lips, making his serious face look wicked. "You really got an issue with the ma'am thing, huh? Clock ticking or some shit like that?"
"I have at least three more years before someone can start calling me that."
"Think it might be more about southern hospitality than your age, doll. But that is interesting. You pissy because you're hungry?"
"Don't worry," I said, smiling. "I won't be fainting on you again. But, yes, I'm hungry."
"Well, there's an Olive Garden next door."
My face twisted up. "An olive garden? Like... we go and pick olives? I mean, I'm going to need more sustenance than that. What's so funny?" I asked when he did that throwing his head back boyish laugh that made my belly go liquid and a fluttering sensation to start between my thighs.
"Olive Garden is an Italian chain restaurant, Ev. Pretty fucking popular one too."
"In Texas?" I asked, squinting at him. "Wouldn't traditional American food or, honestly, Mexican food be more appropriate for the region?"
"Christ, you're a trip. You're like a fucking alien coming to a new planet," he declared, shaking his head at me. "If there is one thing you should know about us Americans, it's that we want every single ethnic food available to us in every town we visit. Did you not notice that Navesink Bank had about five Italian places, three Chinese, sushi, Mexican, Vietnamese, Indian, and Cajun around it?"
"I thought it was just a quirk of that town," I explained. "I mean, I guess I am just used to eating Mexican food in Mexico, and Indian food in India, and Sushi in Japan."
"Ah, but we're the Great Melting Pot."
"I believe that is in reference to ethnic diversity."
"Exactly," he agreed. "And each of those ethnicities brings their food to share with the rest of us."
"Oh, yeah? And what do Americans literally bring to the table?"
"Well," he said, pretending to really mull it over. "There's high fructose corn syrup, and fruit roll ups, burgers with donuts as buns..."
"So basically... food-like products," I said with a smile.
"Highly, highly addictive, sugar-filled, food-like products," he agreed. "I mean, if you've never dropped into a diner at midnight and had a full stack of syrup-soaked pancakes with a big ol' glob of butter, a side of toast with jelly, and a bottomless coffee full of cream and sugar, quite frankly, you've not experienced all this country has to offer."
"I can't imagine that would ever sound appetizing. Unless maybe you're drunk."
"Oh, you've got a lot to learn. Don't worry; I'll make a sugar addict out of you yet. You want a shower to wash off that shitty mood before we get some food?"
"I, ah, yeah," I said, standing quickly, reaching for my bag. "I'll just be ten minutes."
"That's girl-speak for forty minutes, right? I can get a power nap in."
I genuinely did mean ten minutes. I wasn't very high maintenance. I had showered that morning. The only reason I wanted another was to wash the day off and, well, maybe deal with a particularly strong, pulsating need between my legs. If I didn't handle it, I knew all I was going to be thinking about the rest of the night was the fact that we would be in a hotel room together where anything, including tangled-limbed, wild sex, could happen.
I turned on the shower as I tied up my hair and stripped, taking a deep breath as I stepped under the spray, leaning slightly against the side wall of the shower as my hand moved down my body, slipping between my thighs, and wasting no time trying to put an end to the throbbing desire there.
It was going to be a long, long trip with the sexual frustration seemingly right under the surface just waiting for a smirk or a laugh or some witty comment.
I bit into my lip to keep any sounds in.
But as I got closer, as the image of Luce in my mind got stronger, as my sex tightened painfully in the suspended nothingness, then crashed through the waves of the orgasm, an almost pained whimper ripped from somewhere deep inside, unstoppable, but hopefully muffled by the sounds of the shower and the closed door.
Feeling slightly more level-headed, I redressed in something less constricting than I had worn earlier, deciding on a simple deep blue sundress with the hopes that I wouldn't feel nearly as hot with some air circulating all over.
I had barely stepped out of the bathroom before Luce was right there. As in right there, toe to toe. And his eyes were full of something that I couldn't quite place.
He took a step in.
Not knowing why, I took a step back, and hit the wall.
My chest felt weighted again.
My heart started pounding wildly.
This proved an appropriate response.
Because the next second, without even the slightest bit of warning, his hand slid up, and pressed hard into my clit, making me let out a strangled whimper at the unexpected contact, somehow feeling the desire completely reignite like I hadn't already doused it just moments before.
His forehead pressed into mine, his eyes closing for a long moment as his fingers kept working me. Expertly. Relentlessly. Until my hands had to go up around him to hold on because my inner thighs started shaking. Until my forehead slid from his to bury in his neck as the whimpers became moans.
Until he backed me up to the edge, then pushed me over without hesitation, making me cry out his name as the waves crashed through me, his free hand having to slam into my hip to press me against the wall to keep me upright.
His hand moved away as I sucked in a deep breath, trying to come back down, trying to understand what the hell just happened... and why.
I lifted my head, forcing my heavy-lidded eyes to open.
I found him again watching me, but this time I understood the look for what it was - desire.
"Sounded good from behind a closed door, doll, but sounds a fuckuva lot better up close and personal," he declared, hands moving up to give my hips a squeeze before he moved back and away. "I have the keycards. Don't forget your purse. And shoes," he added, almost sounding amused as I just... stood there, too overwhelmed to move.
But then he moved out into the hall, giving me a minute, and I snapped out of my stupor, moving over to my bed and sitting down for a second, mind racing as fast as my heart.
Holy crap.
Okay.
So... that happened.
It happened, and I was apparently supposed to act like nothing at all went down. I was just supposed to walk out of the room, go have a meal with the man, and just somehow forget he had given me an orgasm.
And, well, I was a grown ass woman.
I couldn't actually do it, but I could fake it.
I took another deep breath, grabbed my purse, and slipped into shoes before going to the door.
"Italian?" he asked, pushing off the wall where he had been resting.
"Yep," I said, raising my chin slightly.
Then we had dinner.
We talked about Navesink Bank, about the food, about Texas, about what time we were going to get moving the next day.
Nothing personal.
Which made it at little easier to slip back into friend-mode.
We got back to the hotel, and Luce slipped into the bathroom to shower. I waited until I heard the water, then quickly stripped and changed into my pajamas, which I had packed thinking I would be sleeping in privacy, so yeah... it was shorty shorts that my ass almost hung out of and a silky tank top that the air made my nipples poke through the fabric of.
So I scurried up the bed, flicking off the overhead light, leaving just one by the door to the hall on, pulled up the blankets, and attempted sleep.
You know, until the door creaked open and my half-open eyes caught sight of white. As in the white towels from the bathroom.
And, well, there was no way I wasn't going to look.
I was only human.
He was half-turned away, digging into his bag, giving me a completely unobstructed view of his back, showing a bit more muscle tone than I had expected given his general thinness.
But that wasn't what had my stomach dropping as I forgot all about faking being asleep.
No.
That was because if I thought his arms were maybe from his own victims before, I knew right that moment that I was completely mistaken.
Because Luce had been a victim.
His back was a map of horrors.
Each scar told a story that I was pretty sure would make me ill.
And there didn't seem to be a single square inch of skin that was unmarked.
What had happened to him?
Was that why he lived in a cabin in the woods, cut off from people? What kind of monster did that to another person?
"Luce..." I said, sitting up, everything in me seeming to reach out to him.
His entire body jerked, like he had truly thought I had been sleeping. And in his shock, he turned to me fully, revealing another, different array of scars. But these were all in one spot across his chest. And they weren't just random scars. They were a word carved into his flesh.
Before I could say anything else, he turned, and disappeared back into the bathroom. I could hear something slam, then nothing.
And I mean nothing.
There was no noise from in there for nearly an hour.
He came back out after that, flicking off the light, but not before I could see he was in a tee, like maybe he accepted that there was no hiding anymore.
But he kept his eyes away from me as he slipped under the sheet, and stared up at the ceiling.
I felt like I couldn't let that moment hang, couldn't just... pretend something didn't happen.
I pushed up, sitting up off the side of the bed. "Luce?" I called, but he just shook his head, still staring upward.
I took a deep breath and stood, walking over to the side of his bed, watching as he forced his eyes to me, trying to bank the vulnerability there, but not before I saw it.
"I won't ask," I said, reaching down, touching his forearm, my fingers meeting one of the round burns, raised, but oddly smooth at the same time. "Okay? I won't ever ask."
I don't know what I had been expecting.
But it certainly wasn't what actually happened.
One second, I was just standing there.
The next, he half-folded up, grabbed my arm, and yanked me down onto his bed. I had barely landed before his arm wrapped around my back, and curled me onto his chest.
"Okay," he said, voice barely audible.
And then we slept.
Well, he slept.
Which was good.
He needed it.
Me, well, I stayed awake realizing we had somehow, without hardly even speaking, jumped what was a giant hurdle between us.
Which meant we took the whole 'we're only friends with the occasional benefit' thing, and tossed it out the window.
At least, I was pretty sure that happened.
Time would tell.
Eventually, lulled by the steady fall of Luce's chest beneath me, his heartbeat, and his arm holding me tight, a luxury I hadn't been afforded in far too long, I drifted off to a dreamless sleep.