Page 57 of Trick

“I can walk,” I tell him.

“I know you can,” he says, “but you’re not gonna.”

He scoops me into his arms, and I cling to his neck as he stands. “I’m gonna take care of you,” he assures me.

“I know.”

I close my eyes as he takes me inside, and when I’m lowered onto something soft, I prise my lids apart, expecting to be in my room.

I’m not.

Trick’s room is comfortable, but it’s clear it was decorated by Mara and not him. The soft hues and furnishings are covered in his things, and the bed isn’t made, as if he just rolled out of it.

“This isn’t my room,” I say, trying to sit up.

“I don’t want you alone. Not after what happened.”

I’m grateful. I don’t want to be alone either. “I’m tired,” I mumble, my eyes heavy.

“Sleep. I’ll be here.”

I don’t fight it. Snuggling into his blankets, I close my eyes and give in to the pull of sleep.

When I wake again, I’m surrounded by warmth. The duvet envelops me, but it’s not that which has my instant attention. It’s the heated body pressed up against my uninjured side.

Trick.

His eyes are closed, and the black smudges beneath hurt my heart. When was the last time he slept properly?

I turn to face him, my side hurting a little at the movement, but the medication I’m taking means the pain is dull rather than fierce.

Our faces are inches apart, and I take the opportunity to scan every inch of his. Long, dark lashes frame his eyes, and there’s a little scar on his right temple. I wonder how he got that.

I don’t know how long I lie there, just watching him sleep, but eventually, his eyes flutter and open. Unfocused for a moment, they eventually pin me, and I get lost in him.

He may be tired, but the pain and demons that had been in his eyes are no longer as prominent, and now, I see hints of the old Trick.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“You feeling okay?” His fingers trail over my cheek, and I lean into his touch, craving everything he wants to offer.

I didn’t think I had any place in this club, not anymore, but now, I see this is exactly where I belong.

“I’m okay.” His gaze is softer than I’ve ever seen, and it brings a lump to my throat.

That kiss in the cemetery awakened something between us that had been simmering beneath the surface. I want to kiss him again, to drown in the need I have for him, but I’m scared to move.

“Your face says otherwise,” he remarks.

“I was just… we kissed,” I say, addressing the elephant in the room. “I mean, I kissed you and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

His expression is amused and I’m not sure why. “You didn’t want to kiss me?”

“No. I mean, yeah. I wanted to.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

---