Page 33 of Hunger

It’s true that the word is utterly unattributable to Greyson Everitt. He doesn’t strut. He glides through space like some freaking machine beamed down from the future, poised and deliberate, bowling people over energetically like bowling pins.

“Yes.” I raise my chin. “Strut.”

“I’m not asking you to play because I’m your boss.”

“Temporaryboss,” I correct.

“I’m asking you to play because I like watching you.” His voice suddenly gets low. “And listening to you.”

I have to remind myself to close my mouth once again as it falls open, only this time, the slight tremble in my body gives way to the smoldering heat of pleasure seeping between my legs as he stares down at me, unmoving as if examining the minutiae of my facial twitches.

“Why?” I ask, trying to ignore my treacherous body and its wholly inexplicable desire to have him watch me play.

“You’re making me repeat myself, Indigo. As I said, I’d like to observe you play for me. I’d like to listen. I've never watched anyone play the harmonium before. I’d like to see it.”

“Do you play an instrument?” I ask.

“Piano.”

Grey’s gazes dances with mine as I contemplate letting him in.

It’ll be the first time I've been alone with a man since Micah, other than Kohl, my friend Yoshi and my surrogate dad Harris, Marilla’s brother. As I peer up at him, I realize something strange… Despite him being undeniably on the insufferable asshole spectrum, I feel unafraid at the idea of letting him into the apartment.

I know Kohl wouldn’t exactly like it, but then I can’t count the number of times I told Kohl I wasn’t ready to date seriously. In truth, he kind of caught me when I was vulnerable and praying for anything to erase the horror of my last months with Micah. I’m starting to realize that he never really seemed to hear me, and in my trauma-fuelled state, I didn’t manage to set the boundaries I wanted to.

That’ll change when he comes over tomorrow.

“Fine,” I decide. “One song.”

I open the door wide and he edges his slippers off to reveal large feet in navy socks.

I close the door behind him, heading over to the harmonium sitting in the living room on the right side of the room, as far from the wall adjoining his place as possible.

I sit down cross-legged behind the instrument, my lips finding the glass straw of the celery and ginger juice I left on the side table and sucking it in to quench my thirst as his humongous frame makes it past me and sits on the rug on the floor, no less, leaning his back against a huge chocolate-brown beanbag… right opposite me.

As I place the glass down onto the table to my right, I remember my manners.

“Would you like something to drink? There are some tea bags in the kitchen. You’re welcome to make yourself a cup.”

I hold his mirthful gaze as he shakes his head slowly, settling his weight into the sturdy fabric, one leg bent over the other.

Even when sitting on the floor, he does it most annoyingly, as if he owns the space and I’m some peasant he’s paying to play. This man’s poise is frankly borderline vampiric… well, the elegant prelude to them you see in movies before they start ripping everyone’s throat out.

I watch as Cookie the tabby gets up off her beanbag and saunters over to Grey, rubbing her little head against his thigh—lucky bitch—before lying down and nestling herself against him. His hand reaches for her belly, stroking it gently while watching me most intently. There’s something about the slow manner in which this man is caressing that pussy while studying my face that does socially unacceptable things to my clit.

Indie, please relocate your brain.

“That’s Cookie,” I say.

“I know,” he replies. “She likes to escape over the wall separating our balconies and hang out with me.”

I glance down at the little ball of fluff.I know your game, miss.

I clear my throat.

“The only songs I play are kirtan songs. They’re repetitive.”

“I don’t mind what you play. I just want to watch you.”

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