“Do you need a bear hug?” I asked.
Connor blinked and looked up at me. “A what?”
“A bear hug—a big squeezing hug.” I slowly stepped towards him, giving him lots of opportunities to back up, then flung my arms around his shoulders and gave him my best imitation of the bear hugs my dad gave—the ones that never failed to make me feel loved and safe.
Connor froze for a moment—which wasn’t the expected reaction, since he had no problem touching me.
His shoulders heaved in a sigh and then he slipped his arms around me, returning the hug.
I was surprised by how nice the hug felt—his arms wrapped tight around my shoulders while I wound my arms around his waist. There was something… secure about it. It was dangerously tempting in that I felt like I could relax, like Connor could take care of it, and I could just be.
That was a very dangerous feeling for a slayer—one I needed to be careful with.
Oddly, the hug felt a little deja vu-ish, too. As if I had recently experienced a similar embrace.
“You’re a lot of trouble, do you know that?” Connor groused into my hair.
I rested my chin on his shoulder and fought off the instinct to unwind. “I didn’t burn anything this time, you didn’t even have to fan the fire alarm.”
“I wasn’t talking about your questionable cooking.”
Before I could ask what he meant, Connor slid away from me to approach the sink. “Shall we bag up your Party Mix so you can deliver it to your targets?”
“Yeah.” I glanced at the clock. “I still want to get a workout in before I leave for work, so I’ll need to hurry.”
A smile played at Connor’s lips. “Of course.”
While Connor drank his blood pack, I scooped the plain-but-edible Party Mix into individual baggies. I loaded up one of my empty backpacks and then scoured the building for the elderly neighbors that I was comfortable enough with to offer a bag and not die of embarrassment.
I started with the Weston’s apartment—Connor in tow, carrying my backpack for me.
Just as we turned into the hallway, the door to their apartment opened, and out shuffled Mr. and Mrs. Weston along with Ms. Elly—the building gossip.
Mr. and Mrs. Weston were wearing matching outfits. Mr. Weston, who had a short, squat frame, was wearing olive green pants with a navy-blue sweater, while Mrs. Weston, who was tall and willowy, was in a navy-blue, ankle length skirt with an olive green turtleneck and a vest embroidered with smiling dogs.
Ms. Elly was in a long, flowy dress that had skirts poofy enough to make her vaguely resemble a flower and a knit shrug, while tortoise shell glasses hung around her neck on a beaded necklace.
Mr. Weston frantically checked his watch as the two women laughed together, until they spotted me.
“Jade, darling!” Ms. Elly called. “What a marvelous surprise.”
“And a short surprise,” Mr. Weston said. “We need to keep moving—we’re already two minutes late to our bridge club.”
Mrs. Weston patted her husband on the shoulder. “Oh, pish-posh. We can stop and say hello!”
“It’s the neighborly thing to do.” Ms. Elly said. “I see you have your friend with you.” She winked and shook her dog-sized handbag at me for emphasis.
“You mean Connor?” I glanced over at Connor, who was politely smiling as he stood next to me holding my backpack.
“Ahh yes, Connor.” Mrs. Weston gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I think it’s quite cute how we only ever see Connor when he’s accompanying you. Such a loyal boyfriend, aren’t you?”
I stared at Mrs. Weston for a moment, completely lost. What was Connor loyal to?
It wasn’t until I noticed Ms. Elly squirming with delight that I realized Mrs. Weston was implying Connor was loyal to me.
“Um, that—he’s a great, great friend,” I stammered.
I could have happily kicked myself—of course, now my social anxiety chose to kick up, at the most awkwardness-inducing moment.
I steeled myself as I glanced up at Connor, hoping for help.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Jade
No rescue was incoming—he didn’t say a word. Instead, he had a measured smile with no emotion behind it. This was a very different reaction from the time he’d laughed himself sick at The Book Nookery when Ms. Booker had asked if we were dating, which mildly concerned me until I recalled that this seemed to be his default mode whenever interacting with other apartment residents.
Mrs. Weston does have a point. Connor is faultlessly cordial, but he hasn’t been friendly with anyone in the building besides me. I wonder why he made the exception for me? Is it because I work at the Cloisters?