Killer breaks the stillness by waving at me and patting the couch next to him. “Come sit down,” he says.
As I sit next to him, my muscles automatically tense from the closeness, and I silently remind myself that Killer is a nice guy I should have no issues with. But he doesn’t make things any easier when he slides his arms away from Arrow and tosses one over my shoulders, giving me a little hug. He says something to me, but I’m too focused on pulling away to properly read his lips.
Jace waves to get my attention and then signs, “Killer just asked how you slept last night.”
Is he for real? I watch Jace’s expression for any hint of humor, but his face remains deadpan. I bite my lip to keep from cussing at him. What’s his problem, anyway? He’s all hot and cold, and I can’t figure out any pattern his mood is following.
“I slept fine,” I say, hoping my tone is as nonchalant as I mean for it to be. I gesture to the window, which shows tiny slats of desert through the closed shades. “Are we leaving soon?”
“No,” Jace says with a shake of his head. Then he switches to sign language and quickly explains, “We’ve got three vehicles out of commission. Some idiot tried to replace the oil and put it in with the antifreeze, so all the RVs and trailers are stopped while that gets fixed. But since we’re so close to Albuquerque, we’re going to take a car and head into the city. I’ve got an event I’m scheduled to attend, and the others”—he pauses to gesture to his bandmates—“are going to take the day off.”
I nod stiffly, knowing that my frustration will show through if I give an actual response. It makes sense that Jace isn’t offering for me to join them—it’s really not safe for me to leave the RV. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling jealous at the thought of them hanging out in the city while I stay cooped up in here.
Killer nudges my ribs, making me flinch. As long as I’m trying to figure out Jace’s issue, I’d like to know Killer’s, too. What is so damn hard to understand about the no-touching concept?
“You need something to eat before we go,” Killer declares. “You’re skinny as a stick.”
He jumps up and grabs my hand, tugging me toward the small kitchen. “Come along, sweetie,” he says. “I think there are still some pancakes in the fridge, but they’re some weird bran thing, so you might be poisoned. But all of Jace’s cereal is bound to turn you into a raging health-hippie, so—”
I quickly lose track of his words, and I don’t even try to focus on his lips after that. He’s talking too fast and not looking straight at me, which makes it practically impossible to know what he’s saying. But he doesn’t seem to mind the fact that I’m not responding to a word he says, and he continues chattering as he runs around the kitchen retrieving a plate of pancakes for me.
I try to help him, not wanting him to have to serve me again, but he shoos me back to the counter and points at the stools. I take the hint and sit down, letting him continue his little pancake-fetching frenzy.
My stomach grumbles as he opens the microwave and pops in a huge plate of pancakes. They’re dark brown and grainy-looking, and I can practically hear my taste buds sobbing over the lack of carbs and sugar. But at least I got my mac and cheese last night, so I guess I can’t complain too much about eating a healthy breakfast.
Something brushes against my arm, and I turn to find Jace sitting beside me on the other stool. He’s sitting so close our forearms touch, his tan skin a strange contrast against my pale freckles. His touch is a warm comfort, and as uncertain as I am of him, it feels good.
I’m not hungry anymore. My stomach knots as I stare down at our touching arms, wondering what the hell is going on. Does Jace like me? Well, yeah, if he’s helping me to this extent, he has to like me at least a little. But does he like like me?
Ugh. I’m thinking like a third grader.
Jace rests his hand on my knee. I freeze. Part of me wants to snap at him to back off and make up his mind about how he’s going to treat me. But the other part is too satisfied with his touch to bother pulling away.
Before my instincts can sort out themselves out, Killer slides the plate of pancakes in front of me, and Jace pulls away. I pick up the fork on the side of the plate and start picking at the meal, my appetite gone.
Jace walks to the refrigerator, leaving me alone at the counter. Killer quickly fills his spot, and I’m not sure if I should be relieved or resentful. I settle on relieved. It’s probably a good thing Jace isn’t next to me anymore, because his touch does weird things to me, and I’m getting close to . . .