“Give me that back. My TV is broken in my room and that’s the kind of entertainment I need in my life.”
“Get fucked, Butcher.” I slide the e-reader beneath my left ass cheek and give Rowan a lethal glare. “Hold on a second. Your TV is broken? When did you get here?”
He shrugs and lets his backpack drop to the floor with a dull thud as he gives me a sly smile, folding his frame into the chair next to mine. “About forty-five minutes ago. You must’ve been in your room. I left mine to find some booze. I’m your next door neighbor, by the way.”
“Fantastic,” I deadpan with an eye roll, which only makes him grin.
Rowan unzips the bag, opening it just wide enough to show the bottle of red wine that rests within.
“It’s two in the morning. Aren’t all the stores closed?”
“Not the kitchen.”
“The kitchen’s closed too.”
“Is it…？ My bad.” Rowan pulls the bottle from his bag and cracks the screw-top lid, his gaze fused to mine as he takes a long sip. My eyes narrow to slits when he winks. “Don’t tell me you’re upset about some petty theft.”
“No,” I scoff. Gooseflesh erupts on my arm in the brief moment when our fingers interlace around the cool glass as I pry the bottle from his hand. “I’m upset that you’re taking too long to pass the bottle over. And you’re getting your boy germs all over it. You’re probably trying to infect me so I’ll be sick in my room with your manpox while you go and win our little competition.”
“Manpox.” Rowan snorts as I take a long sip and pass the bottle back. He keeps hold of my glare as he takes a drink, the smirk in his expression still gleaming in his eyes. “Well,” he says, presenting the bottle with a flourish as he hands it to me, “I’ve got your girl cooties now, so we’re even.”
I try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that grin sneaks into my lips it brightens Rowan’s eyes as though he’s reflecting my amusement back to me. Not just that, but amplifying it.
As I settle back into my seat, I realize that it’s as though we only saw each other yesterday. It’s so easy with him, even when I don’t want it to be, just like when we sat in the diner a year ago. Despite how hard I’d tried to force my attention elsewhere, it kept coming back to him. And it’s no different now. He lures me in, a pinprick of steady light in the static darkness.
“Any ideas who we’re here for?” Rowan asks, breaking me away from the thoughts that have swept me away. I take a sip of wine and eye him with wariness.
“Sure.”
“By ‘sure’， you mean ‘not at all’， right?”
“Pretty much. You?”
“Nope.”
“How did Lachlan come up with this location, anyway? And how do I know he’s not going to feed you information to help you win?”
Rowan huffs a derisive laugh and pulls the bottle from my fingers, taking a long swig before he answers. “Because like I said, my brother has no interest in seeing me succeed. If I lose, he’ll get to rub my face in it for a year, and he’ll enjoy every second of it.” When Rowan passes the bottle back to me, he looks around the room, his gaze a careful pass across the features as though he’s hunting for hidden cameras or guests he didn’t notice. I already know we’re the only ones checked in. Aside from the proprietor, a guy named Francis who lives in a well-kept Second Empire-style house that overlooks the inn, we’re the only ones on the property. I’m sure Rowan knows this too, but he’s right to be careful. “As for how he came up with West Virginia, well…let’s just say he has connections to certain people who can access certain files of certain government agencies, and some associates who can fill in the gaps.”
“That certainly sounds dubious, for certain,” I say, grinning when Rowan rolls his eyes at my teasing. “What does your brother do for work?”
Rowan sits back in his chair and taps the armrest as his eyes follow the curves and angles of my face. Their navy blue caress summons a blush to my cheeks. He looks at me in a way that no one else does, as though he’s not just trying to decipher my thoughts and motivations. It’s like he’s trying to memorize the smallest details in my skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind my flesh.
“Our hobby,” he says when he seems to figure I’m safe to share this answer with. “For Lachlan, it’s not a pastime. It’s a profession.”