Page 80 of Ravens
These men are stressing me out.
I climb onto the other side of the bed and snuggle into York’s good shoulder. He stirs, and I put my hand on his chest, which he covers with his own silently. The exhaustion from earlier settles back in, and I give into it.
***
The room is pitch black when my eyes open next. It’s late in the year so . . . it could be dinner, or it could be midnight. I get up and slide from the bed, undoing the towel and rooting through the drawers of old clothing in the dark. Feeling a pair of tights, I pull them out and tug them on and then grab a sweater and pull it overhead as well.
I take a pair of wool socks from the top drawer. Sitting in the same chair William occupied a short time ago, I slip them on. The house feels chilly, so I put an extra blanket over York before I leave, closing the door behind me.
The house is heated electrically, but I always keep it low. Thankfully the fireplace is in good working order, so I head down the stairs intent on getting it going. When I round the corner to the living room, I find William kneeling in front of it, blowing on some embers beneath a bit of kindling.
Of course.
“Did everyone eat?” I ask, rubbing my arm against the chill in the air.
“Carter and August went into town to pick something up.” He blows gently again. “They’ll be back shortly.”
“What time is it?”
“Around seven.”
The kindling catches, and he sets a bit more on it, nursing the small flames until they grow enough to warrant a log. I stare into the firelight as he works, losing all sense of everything.
“Cold?” He looks over his shoulder, and I realize I have my arms wrapped around myself.
“I’m fine.” I shake my head and move across the room, sitting on the old, worn-in couch.
Getting up from his knees, he puts another log on the fire and walks over to the couch and pulls the quilt off the back. He shakes it out and drapes it over my legs before dropping down next to me.
I avoid his eyes as I wrap my fingers around the edge of it. “Thanks.”
He leaves his arm stretched out across the back of the couch behind me, and I pull my knees up. The whole side of my body facing him tingles, and I can’t tell if it’s an attraction thing or a warning.
“Tell me something . . .” He rubs a palm against his thigh.
“What?”
“Why were you singing on the radio?”
I scrunch my face up. Of all the things he could ask . . . “Um, I forgot the mic was hot. I do it when I feel stressed, sometimes just to pass time . . . then you got annoyed, so I got committed.”
He laughs, and I smile inwardly. “I’ve been annoyed since I met you.”
The inward smile fizzles, and I stare at the fire. “Why?”
“Because I know what you are, and it bothers me.”
“You don’t know a thing about me.” I take a slow, deep breath. “You hate us because we’re convincing enough that even you fell for it.” I pull my knees up and rest my cheek on them to regard him. “And now you want to . . . hate-fuck me or something like that. I just can’t tell if it’s for the sake of it or because you think York is fucking me, and therefore you feel . . . entitled.”
“Ishe fucking you?”
“Not right now.” I turn my face toward the fire and stare off. “You can’t be surprised about that though.I am what I am,right? Besides, he’s a good man, and I’m smart enough not to make the same argument for you.”
“You don’t know him. York can be the best of us, and the worst,” he says softly.
“Mm . . . he might be a devil in your eyes, but he’s not in mine.”
“And what does it take to win the elusive Tripoli over?” His fingers sift through my hair, and my eyes drift closed. “That is quite the recommendation after all . . . The devil himself couldn’t ask for better PR.”
