Page 53 of SKIN

“I mean, most of the time it was him.” I gestured a thumb behind me and her eyes bounced from me to Bugs. “Nah, not him, sweetheart. Unless…?” I glanced over one shoulder. Bugs shook his head from side to side and I turned back around. “Most of the time it was Franks. Some of the time, maybe it was me. Can’t fault a guy for wanting to know what all the fuss was about.”

I pushed off the wall and barely made it a half a step before the Bride of Frankenstein was lunging for my face. “You fucking asshole!”

I shifted to the side, in time to watch her tumble forward and crack a knee against the cement. I’d help her up but chivalry didn’t seem to get me very far with this one. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I never touched you at all. Maybe I just liked to watch through the window. And maybe, just maybe, you’re better off not knowing.” I rushed forward, jumping up and twisting into a backflip. A hand reaching out and snatching Bugs’s mask clean off his head as I landed silently on the heels of my boots. Then I rose to my full height. Grinning wider when our wilting flower choked on a name the moment her eyes swept across his profile.

“Elliot…?”

I slammed the door shut on her face while she pounded those cute little fists of hers against a metal panel that had no chance of opening. “Ya know, a lady shouldn’t curse so much,” I yelled out, and listened as the cursing got louder.

A for effort. B for creativity. I’d been called worse names by the time I reached my ma’s knee.

I pivoted down the hall of doors, only to be tugged back by the collar of my shirt a few seconds later. “Did you really fuck Frankie’s girl?” Bugs whispered like the walls had ears, and I guess they did. He should know. 'Cause he was the one who put 'em there.

“I’m gonna tell ya the same thing I told her…” I whispered in reply, my left shoulder jumping up without me even feeling it. “Maybe I did.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you have a fucking death wish.”

“Ya know what? Maybe I do. Maybe I fucking do,” I sang out, shoving my hands into my pockets while the sound of my whistling followed me farther into the shadows, dying off the moment I stepped into the freight elevator and turned around to shoot our one-man IT department another grin.

It seemed Elliot Walker had just as much explaining to do as I did. Difference was I was much better at keeping secrets. Especially when they benefited me.

64

COHEN

Aday could have passed, maybe two, before a kick to my ribs had my eyes shooting open and staring into the face of a kid stuck in a man-sized body. At least that was the only theory I could come up with to explain Casper’s obsession with Halloween masks. I mean, I had a reason to wear 'em. Fucker chose to. And something told me it had to do with a lot more than anonymity.

“What the fuck do you want?” I grunted, closing my eyes and dropping my head back down on the cold tile.

“Did ya know Lambo only has nine toes?”

I could feel the fucker staring at me. I didn’t care. He could stare all he wanted. I wasn’t moving. “Cool, thanks for the intel, Snapple Facts.”

“Also, this is my room and you drank all my liquor so get the fuck out.”

He had me there.

So I pulled my ass off the floor, using the bedframe to prop myself up before meeting his scowl with a shoulder-check. Everything I could feel was aching. Everything I couldn’t creaking and cracking with each step I took towards the supply closet. Then I holed myself in a corner and shot my veins up with enough fluids to have me pissing like a racehorse every five seconds.

But at least the headache was gone. Though I couldn’t be sure how long that would last as I disengaged the lock on Emily’s door and shoved my way inside.

As soon as she caught sight of the movement, she pushed up from the floor and came rushing forward, the hospital blanket draped around her looking like the aftermath of a drunk sorority girl at her first frat party.

If she was hungry, she didn’t show it. Crossing her arms over her chest as I lunged an apple in her direction. Her stuck-up ass not even bothering to try to catch it as she watched the fruit hit the ground with a splat.

“What the fuck was that?” she hissed.

“You know what they say? An apple a day keeps the doctor away… Unless you don’t want me to stay away. Have you missed me, pet? Your legs trembling with need for me? All wet without any relief for days?”

“Fuck you.”

I leaned against the closest wall and eyed her for a few seconds, her face flushed with a hint of anger and a whole lot of lust. And grinned. “You were gonna keep the baby, weren’t you?”

“I don’t see how that matters now, Cohen. It was ten fucking years ago, and my body seemed to make that choice for us so I didn’t have to. Get over it.”

I rushed forward and grabbed her by the throat, squeezing just enough to get her attention. “Never. You loved me and wanted to have my kid. Admit it.”

“Never,” she spat, her tone mocking and her confidence far more elevated than it should be.

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