Page 6 of Festive Fugitive
He takes a cautious glance around, but then pulls down the scarf to take a bite of his own dinner. His eyes have a sharpness to them, and while his hair is gray, his eyebrows are dark, but his mouth is so pink and sweet I regret he hides it with food so fast.
“Only if they buy me food,” he says playfully, meeting my eyes. Does he notice one of them is barely moving? “Sorry, I didn’t mean that I do fetish things for food. Let’s just rewind all of that, okay?”
He’s eating voraciously, as if he’s been hungry for much longer than the past twenty-four hours, and I sense a pull of sympathy when I watch him fill his cheeks with the food.
A man who freed me from Sullivan doesn’t deserve to be this cold and hungry.
“Do you have a place to sleep? It’s cold,” I say, to fish if he wouldn’t benefit from a motel room somewhere.
He stops chewing and watches me with wide eyes. Fuck, there’s nothing particularly special about his features, but I can’t stop staring at him. As if I imprinted my loyalty on him the moment he pulled that trigger. “Um… I’m not… I don’t… I mean, I’m flattered, but…”
Oh. I guess he’s definitelynotgay?
I lean back, embarrassed when it occurs to me how my offer might have sounded, and I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just that… I know what you did, and I’m on your side. Sullivan deserved it.”
There. This was not how I planned this to go, but I need to justify my actionsomehow.
Instead of giving me an answer, he chokes on his food and starts coughing. I was ready to get up if he runs, so I jump to my feet and get to his side of the bench to pat his back.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. I’m just still shocked that he’s gone,” I say, trying to be gentle when I pat him between the shoulder blades. Now that I’m touching him, the jacket seems even thinner, allowing me to sense not only his body heat but also his bony shoulder. He’s like the most gorgeous fox, with silver fur and the voice of a wolf. I already imagine trailing my fingers down his prominent spine.
Which I shouldn’t, because he’s already told me he’s not interested.
Eli has some coffee and clears his throat. “Not sure what you mean. I’ve been mistaken for a lot of people in the past. I just have that face, you know? Kindaforgettable, kinda like everyone and no one,” he laughs nervously, speaking all too quickly.
Forgettable? Like fuck. I already have every line of his features memorized. I will never forget his eyes, his silver hair, his fresh, masculine scent. It’s been only a day, yet I already know I’d miss him if we part. I’ve showed my cards, so I might as well make sure he has someplace warm to sleep tonight. It’s the least I can do.
“You’re fifteen pounds thinner than in your license photo, but I have eyes. Don’t worry, the man was scum. I’m on your side.” I settle next to him so we can speak quietly, but I do get a bit of a thrill from pressing my thigh against his.
Eli hesitates, but then he meets my eye again. “Sorry I smell like orange cake. I thought it could put the police dogs off my smell. If they were following me that is.”
Oh, God. He’s even more of a mess than I imagined. But I can deal with that. I can make sure he’s safe.
“It is a bit strong. But at least there’s no smell of blood, right?” I wink at him.
There’s a new darkness in his eyes, as if he’s pulled up the curtain and his true feelings are on show. “He did deserve it. I just… I didn’t plan it to go that way, I’m no trained killer.”
That I know for sure. “You really think I did the right thing?” he asks as if validation from me is the most important thing.
I’m feeling odd, almost as if he’s touching my chest, even though both his hands are on the sandwich. Am I just this obsessed with him already, or is my gaydar pinging for good reason? “He deserved to suffer. If it was up to me, he would have bled out torn apart by his own dogs.”
Eli’s eyes grow wider, but I have to look away. I've always been hypersensitive to sound. That is why I never go to concerts, and sometimes use headphones to block out the noise around me, but the hurried whisper I’m hearing? I don’t like it.
My gaze darts to the side as I attempt to locate the source, and my stomach drops when I spot the food truck guy hurriedly ducking back into his kitchen.
To anyone else, this would be nothing, but the puzzle pieces fall together in my head, and while it’s possible I’m seeing connections where there are none, caution is the reason I’m still breathing.
“We need to go,” I tell Eli and rise from the bench.
He gives me an unsure glance and speaks with his mouth full. “We do?”
A warmth spreads through my chest. He trusts me. He already trusts me to make good decisions for us both despite him being the new man holdingmyleash.
But he’s nothing like Sullivan. He deserves to be protected.
“Trust me,” I say softly and leave my food behind.
Now I’m regretful I chose to travel on the bus instead of following him in my car.
