Page 103 of Hunger

And the universe in general.

And hormones obviously.

Greyson “the libido whisperer” Everitt is a test of will that no heterosexual woman should be subjected to without at least a year of training beforehand. The man just does something to my pleasure centers which should not be legal. In fact, after my massage, I may look online to see if there’s a hotline to report such a walking threat to female bodily sanity. From what I can tell, he’s a one-man sanity-hazard.

I shake out the ridiculous thought once more as we walk in silence towards Gwyn’s house, the sun, awash in magenta hues, now sliding low in the darkening sky as the leafy tips of branches of short trees skim our arms until we make it to the slim thicket of trees that envelop the houses in this complex.

The silence is simultaneously extremely tense and ridiculously comfortable if that’s possible, with Grey’s hands in his pockets and his eyes watching the path as if deep in thought. In fact, he always looks like that, as if he’s contemplating the darkest secrets of the universe while I’m mainly focusing on not making an ass of myself or losing my tentative hold on to my sang froid, as I’ve been known to do around presumptuous assholes who think they’re superior to me because of their body parts.

Or at least, I used to. In the last couple of months of our relationship, the fear consuming me when I was with Micah transformed me into someone neither I nor my friends recognized—someone walking on eggshells, constantly careful about what she did and didn’t say, wondering if I should speak up about something or not.

I became someone so different to everything I was before knowing him.

I can’t wait until he finally leaves me alone so that I can get back to being fearless like I once felt. To feeling free. To feeling as if I could fly instead of wanting to crawl into some hole in the earth and hide until the monster stops trying to find me.

Grey leads us down the path deftly, tilting his head in my direction from time to time when I lag behind him for a few seconds, waiting until I catch up. Our arms skim each other’s at moments, which of course just has to feel like a billion volts of lightning singeing my body, and which seems to make his step falter momentarily—or maybe just mine. I can’t tell, for my extrasensory awareness of this man seems to be blighting my senses.

As we walk up the paved pathway towards Gwyn’s back gate, I stare at a white sign she’s stuck over the post, hoping it doesn’t say what I think it says.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I read the first line.

Closed for today. Text me to make an appointment. Namaste. Gwyn.

“Dammit.”

I turn quickly so that she doesn’t feel bothered by people lurking at her gate.

“I can find you a massage therapist,” Greyson says as we walk back down the path and head towards our adjacent houses.

“No, thank you. Forget it,” I sigh, deciding to take a warm bath instead to soothe the tension coiling itself so considerately around my body.

25

Indigo

“Thanks for walking me back,” I say, hiding my irritation at the fact that he walked me all the way back to the door when I told him he could let me go at the end of the driveway.

I mean, it’s very sweet of him, but I’m realizing that I don’t like the sudden bodyguard aspect to the way he deals with me. I don’t know him well enough to allow him to be protective over me, plus I hate feeling like I’m some fragile thing that needs to be watched over. I’m not weak or in need of being rescued. In fact, I’ve never had that kind of dynamic with a man before, and I don’t like how vulnerable it makes me feel, as if he doesn’t trust in my own strength.

As if danger is lurking around every corner and he can see it but I can’t.

I slot my key into the door before turning to look up at him. “Thank you.”

“I want to massage your body.”

My lips, now taking on a life of their own because of this mysterious Greyson magic I’ve been exposed to, separate against their will as a whisper tumbles out from between them. “What?”

“I want to massage you, Indigo.”

“Is that some euphemism?” I scoff.

“No,” he replies sternly. “It’s not. I want to get the tension out of your body. In fact, I need to. Seeing as you’re on a retreat to celebrate your womanhood, I think it’s fitting to have a man serve you. It’s not a role I usually take on with women, but I would like to make a concession… just this once.”

Swallowing hard, I contemplate pinching myself to see if I’m actually in a deep sleep. I mean, who talks like that?

Plus, we haven’t even kissed yet, for fuck’s sake. Why would I let him slide his large, strong, incredibly sexy hands, snaked with veins along my stupidly quivering flesh…

“Well, sorry,” I stammer, “but I’m not in the habit of letting random men rub their hands up and down my body.”

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