Silas shook his head. “What’s this waiting you’re talking about?”
“I want to see the workshop,” I said. “Where you built all of this stuff. I want to see what you’re working on.”
“I’ll trade you,” he said, sliding his hand underneath the fabric of my shirt and cupping my breast.
“For what?” I moaned, distracted by the fact that his palm was rough against my nipple.
“You find a way to distract me now, and I’ll show you the workshop when we’re done,” he said. His fingers danced over my nipple, erect to his touch.
“That sounds like a deal for me too,” I said.
32
Silas
“How long has it been?” Tempest stood at the counter, her back toward me, stirring a bowl of cookie batter with a wooden spoon. A pair of my sweatpants, too large for her, hung around her hips; and she wore one of my t-shirts knotted up underneath her breasts, baring her midriff. She looked over her shoulder at me, hair falling messily in pieces from its ponytail, and my heart swelled just looking at her.
“What?” I asked. I was distracted, too distracted by the fact that this girl-this girl who I’d loved for so long, this grifter who’d conned Coker-was standing in my apartment, wearing my clothes, and baking fucking cookies.
Cookies.
Like she was Martha Stewart or something.
Tempest turned around, her back against the counter, the bowl and spoon in her hand. “You’re staring,” she said. “You’re looking at me like…I don’t know what it’s like, but you’re creeping me out.”
I grinned. “Oh, I’m creeping you out, am I?”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m not sure if you’re hungry or -”
“I’m definitely hungry,” I said.
Tempest smiled. “You just had your fill of me this morning.”
“I know. And now I’m starving again,” I said. “What were you asking? I’m too distracted by the fact that I can see right through that shirt you’re wearing.”
“Wait,” Tempest said, turning around and setting the bowl down on the counter. “Is there a cookie sheet here?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who has cookie sheets in his house?” I asked. “You should have told me you wanted me to pick those up at the store when you sent me for the cookie stuff.”
Tempest sighed. “Do you have a pan, at least?” she asked. “And I was asking, how long has it been since I’ve been here?”
I opened the counter and handed her a flat pan. “The days are blending together, aren’t they?”
Tempest looked at the pan, her face scrunched up. “I guess this will work,” she said. “It’ll just be one giant cookie, right?”
I watched as she poured batter into the pan, the act of us cooking in the kitchen now a regular routine. It had been three weeks since she’d agreed to stay here, since she’d decided to press the pause button on everything else that existed outside of this place. When she left to get her things at the bed and breakfast where she’d been staying, I was sure she wasn’t coming back.
But she’d returned not even an hour later, standing in my doorway.
The next day, I was certain that she’d be packing up and running. But she stayed. And one day turned into three, turned into ten, and now it had been three weeks.
I felt myself getting used to having her here.
She felt like home.
I didn’t want to go back to reality. There were things I knew I’d need to deal with - Elias had called last week after someone had told him I’d gotten arrested, and started to lay into me, so I knew he was wondering what the hell was going on. I needed to rejoin the real world at some point.
But holing up here with Tempest was the closest I’d felt to peace in a long time. And I thought she felt the same way.
My cell phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. I ignored it the first two times, but on the third, Tempest insisted. “Seriously, Silas,” she said. “Answer the damn thing already. Just because we’re holed up here doesn’t mean you shouldn’t answer your phone.”
I chuckled as I walked into the bedroom to get it. “Hello.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Trigg asked. “Shit, man, I’ve texted you and called you. What the hell?”
“I’ve been busy,” I said.
“Too busy for your fucking friends?” he asked. “What, you screw one girl who’s out of your league and you’re suddenly hot shit?”
I was silent.
“Wait,” Trigg said. “Are you still screwing her? You’re not still in Vegas, are you?”
“No, I’m not in Vegas,” I said.
“You didn’t say you weren’t still screwing her either,” Trigg said.
“Because it’s ridiculous and I’m not answering that.”
“You are,” Trigg said. “Shit, man, I’ve known you how many years now? I know when you’re avoiding shit or trying to lie. You’re the worst damn liar in the world.”
“Trigg,” I sighed. “What the hell do you want?”