Page 93 of Stabby Little

She produces a lump of something and shows it to me. It's rubbery and flesh-colored. I furrow my brow as I pick it up and turn it over.

My blood runs cold. It's a prosthetic nose. I examine it from the side and see the manufacturer's name on it.

I know the shop. The NYPD busted them three times for selling disguises to career criminals last year. Bank robbers dressed up as old men hit the biggest banks downtown using their costumes.

"Thanks, Crystal."

"Do you think Trevor will text me back?" She sips her Americano. "He said he'd message once he got settled in LA. But that was days ago and he hasn't reached out."

"Yes. Keep texting him."

"He won't message me if he's gay, though, right?" Crystal bites her lower lip. "That wouldn't make much sense."

"Give it another shot," I lie. "You never know."

29

OLLIE

Thursday, June 11th

I walk upthe sidewalk and muster up the courage to knock on Grant's door. Nerves swirl around my belly, but I force myself to stay strong. After my conversation with Sparrow and Finn, I know I need to see Grant again.

Sparrow's right. I have a man who cares about me which is more than my friends have. Even if it's only platonic, I must take advantage of that.

And who knows? Maybe Sparrow and Finn are right in another sense. Perhaps Grant and I need to break into new roles to begin a relationship.

That's assuming he's into guys. Which he's absolutely not.

I've barely knocked on the door when it swings open.

Out walks… my hero. My savior. Grant.

Today, he wears a navy blue sweater with dark jeans. A white, expensive shirt pokes out of his collar, pressing against his strong neck. Scruff adorns his cheeks and his hair is wet and messy, which makes him look even cuter than last time. He wears the same cozy slippers which remind me of rabbit fur or another comfortable material.

I drag my gaze up to his face and lock my eyes on his. His deep, black irises contain a shimmer I didn't notice before, one that reflects the sunlight. They're almost golden—like some benevolent deity saw they weren't quite perfect black and injected precious metal inside them.

I drop my eyes down… and fight the urge to feel Little when I lay eyes on his midsection. Oh Sweet Jesus, Grant has a substantial bulge. I didn't dare peek at his package last time because I was too nervous about seeing him again, but there's no escaping it now. His bits concealed in his jeans look delicious. I bet he's at least eight inches hard or more.

But it's his smile, his warm, sweet smile that breaks out over his face, one that lights up every inch of my heart, that speaks to me the most. I could get lost in his smile. There's something so comforting and protective about it, something pure and true that erases the trauma I went through and molds me into a new person.

"Hey." I wave at Grant. "I decided to take you up on your offer of buttermilk pancakes. I hope that's still on the table."

Grant shakes his head in amusement. "I'm just waking up. Come in."

He guides me into the house and closes the door behind him. As I step inside, I can't help but look at everything I saw last time through fresh eyes.

I take in the high ceilings with exquisite crown molding, the lush gray patterned wallpaper, the sofa where Miles and I watched TV, and the picture window overlooking his backyard. I smell fresh flowers, that same delicious scent that always permeated the living room because Grant kept an open window next to his rose garden, and feel a cool breeze from a nearby air vent ruffle my hair. My mouth waters when I recall the taste of the rich, chocolatey hot cocoa he prepared for me last time from real Belgian dark chocolate, already anticipating it on my tongue.

It's the same yummy chocolate he used when I was a boy. He said he discovered it on a trip to Europe with his son and ordered it online. I tasted that hot cocoa a million times in my memories in the warehouse, but the real-life taste is far better.

"I still can't believe I'm back." I peer around the room and take everything in. "I thought about this place so many times in captivity. It's hard to believe nothing's changed."

"Nothinghaschanged." Grant leads me into the kitchen. "I couldn't fathom the thought of remodeling after Linda and Miles left. Even my down comforter is the same as four years ago."

"Seven," I correct. "That's how long I've been gone."

Grant pulls back a seat at the kitchen island. "Actually, no. I bought that comforter four years ago, three years after you disappeared. The rest of the house hasn't changed in seven years, though. Except for my birdbath out back."

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