71: Stolen Moments, Hidden Truths

Quincy St. Martin

We’re catching our breath, and I’m feeling euphoric and sleepy, but I lift my head up from Caspian’s chest. He’s lying on his back, gazing at the ceiling. His golden hair is tousled. A few strands stick to his damp skin. His finger is tracing a lazy circle on my arm.

When his eyes slide to me, I say, “That was...”

“Amazing?” he supplies. “Phenomenal? Awe-inspiring? So incredible that it should be recorded as one of the Seven Wonders of the World? So incredibly sensational that the world leaders should all announce—”

I grab a pillow and smother him with it so he’ll stop talking. He laughs and wrenches it away.

Our legs are tangled together, and my body is comfortably draped over his, so both our bodies quake when either of us laughs.

“You’re nuts,” I announce.

“I’m your nuts,” he declares, and I can’t hold in my laugh and my body shakes on top of him. He tightens his hold on my shoulder.

We’re being silly. We’ve been doing this for hours now, making love, then talking about ourselves or about nothing at all, then we’re back to doing it all over again.

The more we’re together, the more I want him. I’m well and truly addicted...and sore.

“Now I’m hungry,” I tell him, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It’s almost eleven at night. We missed dinner.

“Time to feed my mate,” he says, lifting me up. He pauses before he winks at me and says, “With food, this time.”

“Oh my God! You did not just say that!”

“Oh, yes I did,” he announces proudly.

“God! You’re nuts!”

“I’m your nuts,” he says. “And stop calling me god.”

“Shut up!”

“Never.”

He pulls his pajama bottoms on while I steal one of his T-shirts. I know, it’s a cliché to wear your mate’s shirt, but I love them. They’re so soft and comfortable and smell like him.

The whole house is in darkness except for the chandelier hanging at the top of the grand staircase and the light from the pool in the backyard.

Together, we sneak into the kitchen and ransack the fully stocked fridge and pantry.

He found a jar of homemade Russian dressing and decided to make us a couple of pastrami sandwiches.

“You know Anya has a crush on you, don’t you?” I ask him as I fill a plate with several types of cheese I find in the fridge.

“Anya who?” he asks me, licking the spoon before he drops it into the sink.

“Our younger cook, Anya!” How could he not know this?

“Oh, okay,” he says, tightening the lid of the dressing jar.

I sigh as I add a bunch of grapes to the plate. There, a cheese plate. Done.

“Why? Do you want me to fire her?”

“Nope!” I answer him, popping a grape into my mouth. The grape is sweet. Nice!

Nana used to try grapes at the store before she bought them, even though she wasn’t supposed to. That’s why our grapes were always sweet.

“You can’t fire people just for having a crush on you.”

“Sure you can,” he says, pouring milk into two glasses. “I’ll fire her ass tomorrow morning if you want me to.”

“Nope. No firing the cook.” I grab a bag of Oreos from the pantry.

We bring our food upstairs and eat everything in bed.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asks me before he bites into his sandwich.

“I’m going to class in the morning,” I tell him. “Then I’m going to the café. I don’t know if I still have a job after not showing up for work for a few days without as much as a text.”

I hope our manager, Adam, won’t kill me for that. I mean, what excuse could I possibly give him? Sorry, I couldn’t make it to work for the last five days or so because I was kidnapped. Oh, and I’ve killed someone, too, like for real, and got mated to a prince…

You know, the usual. Yeah, sounds ridiculous, right? Even I know that’s not going to fly. I might have to grovel to get the job back.

Caspian doesn’t look pleased when I mention my job. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s brooding. I actually like working. I might be making minimum wage, but it’s my money. I’m hopeless at a lot of things, but I’m getting pretty good at making smoothies.

I suspect that I might be turning pro soon.

“I’m going to visit Jonah, Layla, and Isaac later during the day,” I tell him, trying to get his mind off the topic of my job and to stop sulking.

I talked to Layla on the phone once since I got back a couple of days ago. She sounded happy that I’m safe. She’s now back in her pack territory, visiting her family for the weekend.

“Who’s Isaac?” he says.

I try not to roll my eyes. “A housemate.”

He doesn’t look too happy with my answer. “A housemate, huh? I’m going with you,” he says.

“Oh, we’re going to the campus together. We’re in the same class, remember?”

How could I forget? It’s Resource Economics by Professor Harrison in auditorium E 132, the lecture hall that I first saw him in.

I make sure that he finishes his milk and places his glass on the bedside table before I say, “Tell me what’s going on, baby. What’s really bothering you?”

He turns back to face me slowly. His eyes watch me warily.

“I know you’re not telling me something,” I say, “and it has something to do with Lady Celeste.”