Page 36 of ILY
“I didn’t.” I can’t help smiling. Why is his chaos so damn charming?
He lets out a heavy, relieved sigh and sags forward. “Well, thank fuck for that. It was embarrassing. I played dead for half of it. Not that Thom let me get away with it.”
Something ugly rears up inside of me, and I bite it back. “Who’s Thom?”
“A friend. A very happy friend who likes working out a little too much.”
“Alright.” The feeling hasn’t abated, but I have no business being jealous. We’re not athing. I don’t havethingswith potential murderers.
Leaf wets his lips and peers up at me. That small gash on his cheek only makes him cuter. “Well, what are you going to do now that you’ve been caught? Follow me around town? Home? Right into bed? Because that’s where I was planning on going.”
“Perhaps. I wouldn’t be a good stalker if I told you where I was going to appear.”
He bites his lip and grins. “Right. Well then, Mr. Thorne, I shall see you when I catch you.” He winks at me and starts to stalk off, but not before turning around and leaning toward me. “And maybe, the next time I catch you, I’ll suck you off again. You know, as a thank-you for helping me just now. And in general, being ridiculously hot.”
He adjusts his pants slightly, and my skin heats, my cock perking up between my legs. Fuck, what is this guy doing to me?
I stand there, wordlessly watching him get in his car and pull out onto the street. When I can no longer see him, I jump back behind my steering wheel and stare at the road ahead of me.
I really should go back to my place and do more research. I need to figure out how Leaf ended up in the middle of a dark web purchase, who Michael really is, and why the fuck that farmhouse feels familiar.
But instead of doing that, I turn left instead of right, toward his house instead of my rental, and tell myself this is more important.
Being close to him will give me more answers than paperwork will.
And if I get a blowjob out of it, well, we all have our burdens to bear.
I end up sneaking onto Leaf’s back porch while he’s upstairs taking a nap and connecting to his Wi-Fi, both observing and researching at the same time. Well, as much as I can on a phone. I start by looking up the address of this farmhouse and any history associated with it.
He said it was his aunt’s, which came up in the report I’d been given already, but I check through the tax history, and it looks like she was the first owner of the place. It was built back in ’67, but the barn wasn’t put in until ’92.
’92. That date feels weirdly familiar.
Not that Leaf would have had anything to do with anything in ’92. He would have barely been two years old, and while I can absolutely imagine he was just as much of a chaotic terror as a toddler, I don’t think he was up to any criminal activity back then.
Hell, I’m not entirely convinced he’s up to criminal activity now.
I’ve been fooled before, but not like this.
A sigh leaves my chest, and I notice a pulsing headache coming on. Pressure headaches were the first symptom that something was wrong with me—and the one thing that hasn’t eased up much, even with the treatment I’ve been on. And from the way it is now, I have a feeling it’s going to get bad.
It usually begins with a weird fullness in my temples that spreads to my ear canals. Sometimes it stops there, leaving me with a tender ache. Sometimes I get a rushing sound thatpounds through my inner ears, like I’ve just been ducked under a massive wave.
Then comes the screaming tinnitus attack. The ringing is always there, but the ones that sound like an air horn going off in my head? Those ones take me out with huge waves of vertigo and almost total hearing loss. I’m steady right now, but I have a feeling that’s not going to last long.
I breathe and say a little prayer that I’m not about to have a massive attack right here on Leaf’s porch.
Glancing back down at my phone, I notice everything is waving slightly. I breathe and press my feet flat on the porch ground in hopes of heading it off. The pressure in my ears gets worse, so I reach up and snag my hearing aids out. All the sound goes thick and foggy, but the pressure eases some.
Of course, that makes way for the anxiety. Deaf wasn’t the end of the world, but not being able to hear—losing things that were important to me, like my job—is fucking hard.
I’ll adjust, of course. I’ll figure out what comes next.
I just want a little more time before the loss of sound becomes permanent.
I take a deep breath and glance around me as I squeeze my hand around my hearing aids. They omit a horrendous high-pitched sound, and I relax my fingers as the world begins to sway a little harder. “I’m okay,” I tell myself softly. “I’m fine. It’ll pass. I’m okay. I’m?—”
The world gives a violent lurch to the right, and my gullet rises up into my throat. Nope. I’m not okay.
