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C
HARLIE
lived pretty close to the bar. With Pete’s help, it didn’t take long to steer him home. Pete even took him up to his apartment while I loitered outside to smoke. I was more grateful for that than he’d probably ever realize. It would’ve taken me ages to get Charlie up the stairs, and there was no way I was going in the weird-ass glass elevator. Screw that.

I leaned against the building and waited for Pete to come back. It was a clear night and I felt content and just the right side of totally wasted. I’d had fun with Charlie and Joe, and running into Pete had been a bonus I hadn’t expected. I couldn’t stop staring at him, especially when he was taking care of Charlie. I’d seen his comforting bedside manner before, but at the time I’d been too self-absorbed to really appreciate it. Watching him expertly maneuver Charlie’s lurching body and patiently respond to his slurring attempts to communicate had been oddly compelling. Add in his two-day stubble and hazy, buzzed eyes, and I was done.

“What are you brooding about?”

I opened my eyes and he was right in front of me, his lazy grin still firmly in place. “Nothing,” I lied. “Did he go in okay?”

“Yeah, he’s out for the count,” Pete said. “That’s some pad he’s got there. Makes our place look shabby.”

“I like your place,” I protested. Charlie and Ellie both lived in flashy converted apartments, but I preferred Pete’s rickety old building. With its battered old couch and creaking pipes, it suited me much better.

Pete nudged me away from the wall. “You don’t like your room.”

I discarded my cigarette and fell into step beside him. “I don’t like
sleeping
in my room. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re not going to split on me, are you?”

The question was light, casual almost, but when I glanced at him, he was watching me closely, like he was afraid of my answer. “Where would I go?”

“I don’t know.”

His uncertain tone surprised me. I stopped walking and turned to face him. He looked away. It was the first time I’d ever seen him unsure, and in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to put my arms around him. I didn’t. Instead, I shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Pete exhaled softly and took a small step toward me. His hands twitched, like he wanted to do something drastic, before he put them lightly on my shoulders. “Good,” he said seriously. “I’m getting used to you hogging my sheets.”

He held me firmly in place with his dark gaze. There was a beat of silence, and despite the lightness of his remark, the air between us suddenly felt heavy. I absorbed his touch and let myself be drawn closer to him by an invisible cord. Pete leaned forward. I mirrored the motion, but a sharp intake of air—his or mine, I wasn’t sure which—broke the spell. I blinked to dispel the haze, and before I could stop to think about it, I lunged at him and shoved him along the sidewalk.

He stumbled slightly and laughed, long and loud. “Is that the best you can do?”

I widened my stance and issued a challenge with my hands. I was inept at nearly every aspect of human interaction, but sparring I could do. Roughhousing was part of growing up in a group home, along with some other less amusing things. I tilted my head to one side, smirking. “What do you think?”

Pete opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak his shoulder collided with a body coming the other way. It was a minor collision, the kind of thing that happened all the time in a busy city like Chicago, especially when you were drunk and walking backward. He raised his hands in apology and would have kept walking, but he found his path blocked by the dude he’d bumped into.

The guy squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “Look where you’re going, dumb fuck.”

Pete raised an eyebrow. He looked amused—amused and slightly incredulous. I thought for a moment he might retaliate, but he took a step back and let the man pass. I glared at the guy’s back as he walked away, but Pete just laughed and said, “These swanky neighborhoods are full of assholes. Did you see his fucking Rolex? What a tool.”

With some effort, I unclenched my fists. “I thought he was going to take a swing at you.”

“Let him try.”

His statement made me grin. Pete was a calming influence on my overactive brain, although it wasn’t hard to see he had a fiery temper simmering below his cool exterior. He was at his grouchiest when he was hungry, and I’d seen firsthand how pissed he could get when that was combined with a week of night shifts. Tired, hungry Pete wasn’t a man to be messed with. He never really snapped at me—mainly because I kept out of his way—but he was partial to kicking shit about the apartment and cursing anything that got in his way.

Weirdly, I quite liked watching him do that; his dark eyes seemed to gleam and give off a heat that was strangely addictive. He was so
alive
, especially when I compared him to my own muted perspective on life.

Pete nudged me, drawing my eyes up from the sidewalk. “Don’t think so hard, Ash. I get crazy people taking a swing at me every day. I’m usually not allowed to hit them back, but I can take care of myself.”

I nodded absently. Fighting came easily to me; I’d had to do it my whole life to survive. Over the years, it had become second nature. “I like to box,” I said. “There was a punch bag where I lived before.”

“Maybe you could put one in your room.”

I didn’t answer, because we both knew that would involve removing the bed, and that wasn’t a conversation I was ready to have. I lit another cigarette, hiding from his astute gaze, and blew smoke into the loaded silence that settled over us.

“Are you hungry?” he said suddenly. “I’m fucking starving.”

“Sure. What are you thinking?”

Pete winked and pointed toward a bench. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He was gone before I could protest, but he was back before I’d finished my smoke. He slid onto the bench beside me, held out a cheeseburger, and placed a giant bottle of Gatorade
between us. “I’m going to need that in the morning.”

I looked up at the sky. “Dude, it
is
morning.”

Pete pretended to scowl, but he was clearly amused.

Turned out I was hungry. I made short work of the greasy cheeseburger and leaned back on the bench. Pete reached into his pocket when he was done with his and threw a package at me. I caught it and turned it over in my hands. “Cookie dough?”

“It’s the only food I’ve ever seen you buy. Hey, look, there’s your shop. Have you got any work up in the window yet?”

The change of subject was sudden and deliberate, but I let him have it. I glanced at the tattoo shop window across the street and shrugged. After the incident with the craft knife, it had taken me a few days to get my designs together. I’d finally given them to Ted the previous week, but I hadn’t had the balls to check if he’d used them.

Pete tossed his burger wrapper into a nearby trash can and grabbed my arm to haul me to my feet. “Let’s go see.”

I drifted along behind him as he darted across the street to the studio window. He peered through the glass, but it took a moment for me to remember he didn’t have a clue what he was looking for. Reluctantly, I stepped forward, and when I looked at the display I was surprised to see that every sketch I’d given Ted was there. Stunned, I pointed to the one that was easiest to see. “That’s mine.”

Pete leaned forward to look closer. “Seriously? Wow, that’s amazing. I didn’t know you did shit like that. Is that like the tat on your wrist?”

“I guess. I did that myself, so it’s probably the same style.”

“Wow,” he repeated thoughtfully as he stared at the image. “That’s, like, proper artwork. I didn’t know you were that good.”

I shifted uncomfortably and looked away. “I’m not. I only finished my apprenticeship a few months ago. This is my first real job.”

“That makes it even better.” Pete turned away from the window. “There’s nothing wrong with being at the beginning of something, Ash. Sometimes that’s the best bit.”

“Sounds like a cigarette to me.”

He rolled his eyes and scowled. He didn’t object out loud to me smoking, but I knew it wasn’t a habit he approved of. Occasionally, he came home from a night shift in a good mood and thought it was hilarious to hide my cigarettes. That shit wasn’t cool. He needed a full belly to be civil; I needed my smokes.

We left the shop and walked the rest of the way home. On the way, Pete filled me in on why he’d seemed to know Charlie. It turned out Ellie had been around a lot more than I’d realized, and in my absence, they’d become firm friends. Funny, since she hadn’t mentioned that to me. I was aware of her habit of sneaking things into my room when I wasn’t there, like the art-school prospectus I’d found under my pillow, but I hadn’t realized she’d been bugging him too. “Sorry. Has she been waking you up?”

Pete shook his head. “Nah. Besides, she brings me coffee from Nino’s. A chick like that can do no wrong. Maybe you should just give her a key.”

I looked at him like he’d lost his mind as he opened the door to our building. “Why?”

He waited until we were inside and had reached the top of the stairs before he shot me a sideways look. “Because she only lives a few blocks away. It makes sense to have someone nearby with a spare key.”

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “She’s kind of relentless. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

He opened the door to the apartment and kicked his shoes against the wall with a thud. “I’m sure. You don’t have any secrets from her, do you?”

“Not really.”

Pete dumped his jacket on the floor and started for the bathroom. “Good,” he called over his shoulder. “I already gave her the key.”

I went to my bedroom to change my clothes with his laughter still echoing in my head. He was still chuckling to himself when I met him in his room a little while later.

“Can you close the blinds? The sun’s going to kill me when it comes up.”

I moved to the window, grateful, as usual, for an excuse to look anywhere but at his bare torso. “Is that why you chose this room instead of mine?”

“What? Yeah, that big window’s a demon. Shit, I need to do some laundry.”

I heard him shut the drawer of the dresser and move around the room behind me. When I heard him sit down on the bed, I turned to face him. Damn. He still had no shirt on.

Pete scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’m going to pay for this later. Hey, can I look at your ink properly?”

“What?”

“Your tattoo,” he repeated with an encouraging smile. “Can I see it?”

I stepped toward him and cautiously extended my arm. “Um, okay.”

He sat up and took my wrist in his hand, turning it gently as he traced the sleeve design that covered my forearm. His touch burned a path down my arm as he took in every nuance and detail. He stopped over the scars that lurked beneath the ink. My breath caught, but he didn’t look away. A heartbeat later, he continued his journey along my wrist until he’d laced his fingers with mine. He squeezed my hand, and suddenly my heart was thudding for an entirely different reason.

His touch was electrifying; the current flowed through me and set my veins on fire. I shuddered. It was too much… too much and not enough. Pete raised his eyes, and something in my face alarmed him—something that he misread as rejection. He shifted his weight and leaned away, letting his grip on me go slack. Panic surged through me. I didn’t want that to happen. I couldn’t
let
that happen. I leaned forward, blood pounding in my ears, and kissed him the way I suddenly knew I’d always wanted to.

Pete stood, kissing me back with his whole body, and the humming current between us went into overdrive. He tilted his head back and the motion brought our hips closer together. He opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, and I was gone. I fell into it headfirst. He tasted amazing—like beer and mint. I pulled him closer and felt his chest connect with mine. He felt warm, familiar. He felt
right
and I could’ve kissed him forever.

But we didn’t have forever. The world was all too real, and a few moments later, he pulled away and dropped his head to my shoulder to muffle his groan. He reached out and grabbed my hand so I could feel his heart hammering through his chest.

“Man, you do some crazy shit to me.”

I didn’t respond with words. I couldn’t. Instead I took his face in my hands, pushed him back onto the bed, and kissed him until we both passed out.

I
WOKE
up the following day with a pounding headache and every part of my body entangled with Pete. I’d slept like that with Ellie more times than I could remember, but for some reason the warmth and security of Pete’s arms was the scariest thing I’d ever felt. I slipped away from the bed while he slept, and I spent the next few days avoiding him.

Avoiding him felt wrong—hell, I knew it was wrong—but I didn’t know what else to do. Sleeping that close to him had sent my brain into overdrive.

I missed him, though. The ache in my chest for him grew and grew until I finally had a lightning-bolt moment of clarity. What the hell was I doing? He’d seen me at my worst… screaming into my pillow one day, and catatonic on the fire escape another, and made it clear he still wanted me. And I wanted him… God, I wanted him.

The moment I made up my mind to face him, I pretty much dropped everything I was doing and ran all the way home, but he wasn’t there, and when he finally did come home, any plans I had to bare my soul had to wait. He had stomach flu. I’d heard of that, though the phrase had never made any sense to me. I mean, what did that make normal flu? Head flu? Throat flu? Not that it mattered. All that mattered was Pete, and while he was sick, my imploding brain had to take a backseat.

A few days later, he woke me before dawn. He cupped my face with his hand. It was an intimate gesture—something he’d never done before. I tilted my head, sleepily absorbing it, but I felt my forehead crease as I realized that, despite keeping no food down for the best part of two days, he was dressed and ready for work.

He rubbed my cheek with his thumb. “Shh, go back to sleep.”