Page 48 of Corpse Roads

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Leigh.”

His nose crinkles with adoration at the offhand nickname. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve never seen it?”

I shake my head.

“What about Friends?”

“Like, did I have any friends?”

“No.” His expression grows even more horrified. “The show, Harlow. Friends? No?”

My cheeks burn. “Not a clue.”

Cursing under his breath, Leighton snatches the screwed-up piece of paper from my hand before I can react. Panic rushes over me, but he simply tosses it onto the dresser and offers me his hand.

“We’re rectifying this situation immediately. You’re not going to sit here and wait for Hunter to come home. We’ve got catching up to do.”

Gently pulling me up, he grabs the discarded mustard cardigan I left hanging on the wardrobe door and tucks it around me. My heart stutters at the thoughtful gesture.

“Enzo needs to buy you some more shit,” he complains, taking my hand again. “Those bags we got the other day weren’t enough.”

I’m dragged out of the room, his skin burning into mine like a cattle brand. All I can smell is his citrusy shower gel, clinging to his skin in a delicious, inviting cloud.

“He bought way too much.”

Leighton gives me a side look. “Yeah, that really wasn’t a lot.”

Making it downstairs with several aching ribs and a lot of controlled breathing, Leighton guides me into the den. I’m steered towards the huge sofa and dumped in a nest of cushions.

“Get comfy,” he orders with a stern look. “Doctor’s orders.”

Taking the other corner, Leighton stretches his toned legs out. He’s dressed for a rainy afternoon, his sweats well worn and fitted perfectly to his muscular frame.

Grabbing a knitted blanket, he covers me with it and fusses over me like a mother hen. His half smile is amused as I squirm and evade his touch-feely hands.

“We can’t have you catching a cold on my watch,” he explains. “Enzo threatened to mount my head on a spike outside the house if I don’t keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?” I gesture around the room. “This place is a fancy prison. There are even people guarding our cell.”

“They’re outside for security, apparently.” Leighton settles in while flicking through channels. “Ever seen a movie?”

His questions are always subtle, slipped into casual conversation. Bit by bit, my secrets are being unravelled.

I hum a noncommittal response.

“That’s a no then. Mystery girl, you’re killing me here.”

“Your indecision over my nickname is killing me,” I reply without thinking.

Leighton barks a laugh. “What can I say? You’re impossible to pin down, Goldilocks. I’ll figure you out someday.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Settling on a movie, the screen erupts in an explosion of colour. Cars battle each other in the opening scenes, racing at breakneck speed through a flash of gunfire.

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