“Shit. No, that’s not how I wanted to bring that up.”
Guy's hands went to his hips, he tilted his head—brow raised. “How did you want to bring it up? Cuz it sounded like you wanted to hurt me a little bit.”
I did. I’m glad he could read between the lines at least.
Raising my palm, I steadied my nerves. “Look, my mother always told me it’s not what you say it's how you say it.”
“Pretty sure Maya Angelou said the same thing but a little better.” I almost missed his smirk and dimple, the same one that haunted my daydreams from Sanctuary. This little shit was playing me! What the hell?
“Okay, pause. I call foul on the play because what aren’t you saying to me right now? Nevermind, don’t answer that. Just tell me this; did you ever dream of fighting a giant snake?”
He paused, brows furrowing. His arms dropped and he nodded.
“What about the words Clean-up Girl?” That got his attention. His eyes widened and he shook his head.
“How the hell…I haven’t had that dream about her since I was a kid.” Now we were getting somewhere, finally.
“And what do you remember about her?”
“Not much.” He was telling the truth. I used to be able to smell when people were lying but now I had to rely on body language and facial ticks. Guy was sad but he wasn’t bullshitting me.
“Just tell me what you do remember, anything might help me fill in some blanks in my own memory.”
He sat down on a pristinely polished wooden barstool, drumming his fingers against the dark countertop.
Watching him turn to me with a realisation in his eyes was oscar-worthy. It was like the universe might finally be throwing me a bone as he uttered two words that made my heart leap;
“Cottoncandy….dipshit?”
“Fuck yes!” Punching the air was the least I could do in celebration. He remembered! We shared the same dream, somehow across time and space. I have no fucking clue but it happened! And that's so much better than nothing.
“You spit up a little girl's house.” He mumbled, brows knitting together. Guy rubbed his temples.
“Keep going.” Should I be sitting this close to him to encourage him further? No, but dammit I’m plopping my ass down right next to him until something breaks through. I leaned a little too close to his head but thought nothing of it at the time.
“I’m supposed to be older than you—ow, fuck!” He groaned, smacking his forehead against mine accidentally.
“Ow, shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be that deep in your personal…space.” The room was spinning and not just from the accident. My breath hitched as his fingers brushed hair out of my face. His thumb grazed the small bump on my forehead. The pain was already gone, but his touch? It dragged heat from my belly to between my thighs.
“I uh, got you pretty good, yeah?” His eyelids lowered–laser focus on me, voice husky and deep.
“Just a bit.” I should stop his hand from caressing me like this, it's a bad play. I’m married, I keep repeating those words like a prayer—no, not a prayer. They hold me like I’m a prisoner of my own desire, sentenced to life on earth. The only problem is my heart can’t tell if his touch is heaven or hell.
And when he leans forward… I close my eyes and lower myself just enough—drawing up what little discipline I have left. His lips tenderly press against my forehead, like a mother kisses her child's cuts and bruises.
When he pulled away, my eyes fluttered open. What had I just done?
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, leaning back so his back was against the counter. Guy covered his face with his elbow and slowly breathed deep.
“You aren’t the only one in this bar, Guy.” What a weak admission of guilt. We might not have actually done anything but the intent was there and worst of all, I’m still here. What’s really keeping me here?
Why did I really come find him? It wasn’t just for our connection…or maybe that was the tipping point.
A harsh knock on the tavern doors made us both jump out of our seats. It was Silla, the feminine mushroom person I’d met earlier. She seemed out of breath, clutching her chest as she doubled over.
“Silla? What’s wrong?” Like a bucket of cold water dumped on my head, that was all I needed to snap out of my longing haze for Guy.
“It’s Corre. I can’t find him anywhere and—” her cap raised, she glanced in Guys direction and her pale skin shriveled slightly. A screech broke free from her as she chucked glasses, pictures and whatever else she could reach at him.
“Hey! Wait–I’m not gonna hurt you!” He shielded himself with his arms. I stepped in between the two.
“Silla, it’s alright. He means it, he really won’t harm you. You have my word.” If that even still means anything.
She hissed at him. “If my Corre is gone, it is because of his maker!” Silla was pissed, not that I could blame her.
“Aside from the big ass wall between your communities, what makes you think Rupert took Corre?”
Her massive caphead shakes back and forth. “I do not have proof of him specifically but his soldiers were scouting the walls' edges moments ago. Corre and I always nap so that our home mouth faces the morning sun, it heats everything up while keeping us wet and warm. When I got up, Corre was missing but not his wedding binding. We always keep it on our forearms.”
She showed us her forearm, the intricate wood and flowered ring sat nestled in her flesh like it was a part of her. Sure, it didn’t look too appetizing but it meant something. I couldn't help glancing at my naked hand and sighing.
“He never leaves without it.” She sniffles. Green goop flows from her nose. What am I supposed to do with that?
Guy and I share a look, shaking off whatever there was before–at least for now. When he winked at me and smirked, the butterflies in my belly threatened to do somersaults. He surprised me with what he said next:
“Let’s grab Wyatt. We have a husband to find.”
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter