“No, but I find it strange that both you and Blaine are getting blackmailed by them, since you two are close. Makes me wonder if perhaps you both know who the person is.”
“Blaine and I were close,” I stress. “I feel like I don’t even know him anymore. And honestly, I don’t think he knows me anymore either.”
He observes me closely, uncertainty written all over his face. I’m about to ask him what the hell is up with that look when he asks, “Now that you know he’s not really into Masie, does that …?” He huffs out frustrated exhale. “Do you think you’ll be friends with him again?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
And I really don’t.
I also don’t think he really meant to use the word friends.
He wants to know if I like Blaine again now that I know the truth—that Blaine isn’t really into Masie. But through all this—me seeing him kiss Masie, me cutting that tie with him—it made me realize that I’m unsure if I even still liked Blaine, that maybe I was just latching on to that love I once felt for him, because it made me feel connected to my past when my parents were alive still. And I was telling the truth when I told West that Blaine and I don’t really know each other anymore. Truthfully, West probably knows more about me right now than Blaine does. What that means, though, I haven’t got a clue. Or maybe I do and am just afraid to let myself admit it aloud.
“So, about that key you found in the alley,” I say, deflecting. “What do you think that’s for?”
He stares at me with an unreadable expression, probably because he can totally tell that I’m avoiding having a conversation about Blaine. Still, he lets me off the hook, digging the key out of his pocket.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it doesn’t even have anything to do with the person in the hoodie, but it did seem weirdly out of place.” He holds the key in the palm of his hand, examining it.
I lean toward him to get a better look. Under the light, I can see how old it is, rusted around the edges and bulky. But what is really strange is the markings engraved into the top.
“What do you think these are?” I ask, running my fingertip along the markings.
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think they’re just random scratches.”
“Yeah, they look like symbols.”
Biting his bottom lip, he glances up at me. “Tonight, do you think you could draw that tattoo you saw on that guy’s neck? Then, maybe tomorrow, I can have Ellis run image searches on that and these markings.”
I nod. “I can do that.” At least, I hope I can.
I haven’t tried to draw anything else since the drawing of West. And when I did that, I was in some sort of emotional, overpowering state. But drawing a tattoo doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just a simple drawing; that’s all.
“I also don’t want to be all weird or anything,” West says cautiously, “but I think you should be careful for a bit and maybe try not to be alone as much as possible.”
“I get why you’re saying that, and I understand that I probably should, but I also don’t have a lot of people in my life that I’m close to.”
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You have me.”
God, I really wish he’d stop saying stuff like that. And looking me like he thinks I’m important. And touching me so gently, so carefully.
“You can’t be with me twenty-four seven,” I remind him.
“Says who?” he teases.
“Says life,” I quip. “You have your own life, your own stuff going on. You can’t just spend all your time with me.”
“Maybe not all my time, although it’d be sort of fun.” He grins amusedly. “We could sleep in the same bed, all pressed up together. And then, when we wake up, we could share the shower.” When I narrow my eyes at him, he gives me an innocent look. “Only to save water. I like to do my part in trying to help the environment.”
I bite back a smile as I shake my head, and a smile takes over his face. But underneath the smile, he looks worn out with bags under his eyes and that cut on his forehead hasn’t been properly cleaned yet.
He has so much to deal with as it is already, and yet he’s here, with me, helping me out with my own shit.
“We should go clean up your cut,” I tell him, lightly brushing my finger just below the wound.
His smile fizzles as he smashes his lips together. “Okay.” His voice sounds hoarse, but I’m not sure why, other than maybe my touching him hurt.
Lowering my hand, I climb off the bed and start for the door. He follows me, resting his hand on my lower back. I could step out of his touch—it’s not like we need to pretend that we’re dating right now—but I find myself comforted by the gesture.
West, he’s really been there for me through all this.
And he’s not who I thought he was.
He’s sweet and kind and, yes, I’ll admit, sexy.
And his kisses …
Wow …
“You okay?” he asks as we enter the small bathroom. “You seem kind of tense.”
“I’m just peachy,” I lie as I collect the first-aid kit from under the sink. Then I stand up and pat the counter. “Hop up. I’ll patch you up.”
With the corners of his lips tilted upward, he hoists himself onto the counter. “Aw, you gonna play doctor for me? If so, you should go put on a naughty nurse’s outfit.”
I make a big show of rolling my eyes as I open the kit and move in front of him.
My heart is a mess as I imagine doing what he’s implying. I wouldn’t even know how to do that—be sexy—because I’m completely inexperienced and West isn’t. I know that for a fact.
“I don’t have one,” I say. “And besides, nurses wear scrubs.”
“True.” He watches me intently as I get out the peroxide and a cotton ball. “For Halloween, you should dress up as one. You’d look sexy as hell.”
“Nah, that’s not really my style.” I set the kit down on the counter. “Maybe you can convince Stella Mafelerton to do it for you, though.”
He angles his head to the side. “What the hell does Stella Mafelerton have to do with this?”
I douse the cotton ball with peroxide. “Today, I heard her talking about how hot she thinks you are. If you go to that party this weekend, you might get lucky.”
Amusement glitters in his eyes. “Wouldn’t that be a little weird, since you are my girlfriend?”
“Fake girlfriend.” I set the bottle of peroxide down. “And we never established how long we are gonna date. We could always break up before the party”
“Yeah, we never did establish a timeframe, did we?” His gaze burrows into me as I lift my hand and dab his wound with the cotton ball. He winces then clears his throat. “Lex … about what the blackmailer told you.”
I cringe as my hand noticeably trembles. “Which part?”
He circles his fingers around my wrists, searing hot, drawing my attention to him. “About me liking you.” He rubs his lips together then lowers my hand from his wound. “It’s true. I’ve liked you for a while.”
Hearing him say it aloud almost makes my heart jolt, and I end up dropping the cotton ball.