Waking
Up in Your Forbidden Crush’s House. Wearing His Shirt. You Know. Normal Things.
“Hey.”
She stiffened.
Her heart gave a little flutter. She knew that voice. His deep, husky baritone
was unmistakable.
Maddy looked
back over her shoulder.
It was him.
Oh good lord.
He stood at the
entrance to the kitchen, a towel over one shoulder.
Their eyes met.
She felt a
little zap of lightning.
She swallowed.
Hard.
Maddy turned
around slowly to face him. She was shocked. He was her secret. Secrets were
supposed to remain hidden. Not standing before her, face-to-face.
This was her
first time standing so close to him outside of work, in broad daylight, without
a dark moonlit forest obscuring his physique. His honey-hazel eyes glimmered
beneath stern brows. His black hair, a warm tone like rich earthen humus, fell
freely past his shoulders.
His massive
chest made two little mountains under his white T-shirt. He was very tall and
packed with muscle; she guessed him to be three or four inches over six feet.
A full sleeve of
tattoos covered each arm. She had never really looked at them before. Up near
his left shoulder, partly hidden by his shirt, she saw a vibrant, grinning
skull in the sinister style of Dios de Los Muertos. The word LOBO in rustic
Southwest font ran down his right forearm, while LOCO ran down the left. If his
arms were both down, it read “lobo loco.” His right arm also carried the
astrological symbol of a Scorpio, or maybe it was just a big fucking scorpion.
The rest of the sleeve was too intricate for her to really appreciate at a
glance.
His skin was
deep tan. He wore blue jeans and steel-toed work boots. Something like car
grease stained his shirt. She wondered, not for the first time, if he worked at
a garage.
Maddie realized
she was staring with her mouth slightly open. She shut it. She met his eyes
again. She really didn't know what to say.
“You hungry?” he
asked.
Then he walked
back into the kitchen.
Maddy followed
him with some hesitation. She felt like a stray cat who had wandered into
someone’s house. He set a plate of bacon down on the kitchen table, and she
pulled out a chair and sat down. Next to the bacon was a plate of scrambled
eggs and two big waffles with maple syrup.
“I didn’t know
what you liked,” he said, like he needed to explain why he’d served her an
entire breakfast buffet. “Eat up. I’ll finish the rest.”
“Uh . . . thank
you,” she mumbled.
She picked up
her fork and speared one of the waffles onto her plate. The sight of so much
food made her suddenly ravenous. She felt like she had burned ten-thousand
calories the night before. She started shoving warm, syrup-covered waffles
straight into her mouth.
He continued
washing the dishes. The voice on the TV droned on. Maddy’s ears suddenly perked
when she heard her name. “Now on local news, five bodies were found in the
woods just outside Black River, NY . . . Police are saying animal attack . . .
nearby mobilehome abandoned . . . currently searching for Madeline Donovan, a
student at Black River High School. If you have any information about her
whereabouts, please call . . . .”
So the police
were looking for her. Wow. Color her impressed. Someone must have reported her
missing. Maybe because of the gunshots. Certainly not her father. Sounded like
Dean still hadn’t come home.
Another voice
interrupted Maddy’s thoughts, a memory from the night before: “Rough up the
guy. . . Toss his place . . . Leave a message.”
Maddy’s hands
started to shake.
Her fork slipped
through her clumsy fingers. It clattered to her plate. Then to the floor. It
made a lot of noise.
The man turned
to look at her.
“Sorry, uh . . .
sorry,” she muttered.
Her hands
clutched the bottom of her shirt as she tried to stop trembling.
He was still
watching her. That made it worse. This isn’t normal. Nothing about this is
normal. She was in his house. Her head was bandaged, and she was sitting in his
boxers and a T-shirt. She felt a weird sense of vertigo. Everything was
surreal.
She stared at
her plate. Her cheeks were burning. She tried not to think of the unnegotiable
fact that she was wearing his clothes, which meant someone must have undressed
her the night before, which meant he absolutely saw her naked.
“You okay?” he
asked.
“Yeah.”
He shut off the
sink. Then he passed through the kitchen and into the living room, where he
picked up the remote. He turned off the TV.
“Sorry if that
bothered you,” he said.
“It’s alright,”
she said.
She turned in
the chair. She could see him clearly; he was only about ten feet away. She
studied his face again. The light from the window cast shadows beneath his high
cheekbones.
Devilish. He had
a masculine neck, a cleft chin, a straight nose and a slightly prominent brow
that gave his face a stern appearance. His lips were firm and sensual. His
lashes were long and dark. His eyes were a bright, unusual hazel color.
Sometimes they were green, and sometimes they were gold. She couldn’t tell if
he was Native American, Mexican, Brazilian or a little bit of everything. To
her, he looked like an exotic model from somewhere warm and tropical.
She felt a
flutter in her stomach. It was not a shy tickle, but a steroid-enhanced
butterfly striking her ribcage. She liked him so much. But . . . he was an adult,
and she was only nineteen.
So, like,
probably too young for him. God, she could not stop blushing.
“So what happened
last night?” he asked.
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