Now to get out of this bed without waking him.
Easier said than done.
I tried to slide out from under his arm, but the more I wriggled, the more his muscles flexed, tightening around me. He dragged me back against his chest without waking, like it was a reflex.
Crap.
I grabbed his wrist, hauling his arm off me. Then he did wake. The bed shifted as he moved, and he lifted his wrist from my hands, wrapping his arm around me once again.
His breath tickled along my jaw as he placed a kiss on the sensitive skin under my ear. “Good morning,” he the sensitive skin under my ear. “Good morning,” he whispered, his voice stil rough with sleep.
My mouth went dry, my body waking to answer his in ways I real y wished it wouldn’t—especial y with Death stil standing three feet away, watching me.
“I, uh—I have to pee.” I broke free of Falin’s arm and rol ed to the edge of the bed.
As I crossed the foot of the bed, Falin flopped over onto his back. Staring at the ceiling, he bunched both his hands in his hair. “How many hours should I wait to start breakfast?”
“What? I—” Okay, so I had hid out in the bathroom the last time I woke with Falin in my bed, but this was different.
“I’l be right back.”
Death trailed me. I ignored him until I reached the bathroom—I had no intention of making him visible and encouraging a repeat of last night’s posturing. Once I closed the door, I rounded on him.
“Out. This is alone time.”
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
I frowned at him. “I’m being serious.”
“Then you should seriously make him leave.” He jerked his chin toward the inner wal and the one-room apartment beyond.
“He’s not here in the bathroom.”
Death gave me a look that said I knew what he meant, and I sighed.
“He’s helping me, okay?”
Death just continued to frown, and I turned my back on him. His reflection in the mirror watched as I tried to drag a brush through the snarls that my curls had turned into after they’d been slept on, and before that, hours of being tossed around in the wind while crossing over from the land of the dead.
“How do omelets sound for breakfast?” Falin’s voice cal ed from somewhere in the kitchen, and Death’s reflection shook its head.
reflection shook its head.
He muttered the word “omelets” under his breath and then focused on me again. “He has his own agenda.”
I shrugged and turned on the water. “Most people do.” I shoved the brush under the faucet, and then dragged the wet bristles through my hair to calm the frizz.
“Alex.” He stepped closer, his hands molding around my hips. “What do you real y know about him?”
I twisted in his grasp, not to get away but to face him. The position was close, intimate. If I had lifted onto my toes, I could have kissed him. As it was, I was close enough to see the kaleidoscope of colors hidden in his dark hazel eyes.
“What do I know about you?” I asked, and the skin around his eyes tightened in a smal flinch, as if my question could wound. I lowered my gaze.
When I was a teenager, I’d had a major crush on Death.
Yeah, imagine that, a teenager with a crush on Death—it took emo to a whole new level. He’d visited me less often then, stopping by apparently at random for reasons unknown. I think, back then, my company was an amusement or maybe an interesting novelty—a mortal who could see him, interact with him. For me, he was that dreamy, dark and mysterious older guy. I guess he was stil al of those things, but I’d thought I’d outgrown that teenage crush. Clearly it had just grown up with me.
I took a deep breath, relishing the thril of his hands on me, of his touch. Of the fact that we could touch. A month ago it would have been uncomfortable, him too cold and me too hot. But now things had changed.
Looking up again, I studied his face, recognizing every line of his jaw, the curve of his eyebrows. In some ways, he was my closest friend. In others he was a complete stranger. But even with our relationship in this strange, awkward, morphing mess of, wel , whatever it was, I stil felt like I could talk to him. Could tel him anything, everything, even if he couldn’t do the same. After al , no one kept even if he couldn’t do the same. After al , no one kept secrets like Death.
“You’ve always told me not to push,” I said, moving my arms to his, my hands at his elbows, my forearms on top of his. We were too close for me not to touch him without making things more awkward. “Not to push for answers you can’t give me, for secrets you can’t reveal. Wel , now it’s my turn. Don’t push me for commitments I can’t make.”