Page 166 of Himbo Hitman
“You’re fun, Perry. But as much as I like you, I like my job more.”
She walks out again, and I’m left with my too-slow-moving thoughts and maybe more self-pity than I had before she stopped in.
No Margot, no St. Clare, no friends, and I keep reaching for a bracelet that doesn’t goddamn exist anymore. This sucks.
I’m aware that I’m supposed to be focused on the whole being-alive thing, but my legs keep going numb, and weeding through sluggish thoughts is frustrating as hell.
There’s a knock at the door, and I close my eyes, letting out a long groan again. “Quick, Janice, help me up. I’m dying.”
No fake-sympathetic response. Instead, there’s a pause, and then, “Is this going to be another situation where I signal for an emergency and waste everyone’s time?”
My eyes crack open, and there’s the familiar sympathetic and indulgent look St. Clare’s been so good at giving me lately. “We’re in a fight,” I announce.
“Is that so?” He walks into the room and pulls up the chair by my bed. “That didn’t take us long.”
“You’ve been gone forever. I’m spiraling out of my brain.”
“Considering you’re talking at half speed and I was gone an hour, I think we’ll get past this relationship hurdle.”
I reach for him, but my hand isn’t working properly. “Touch me. But angrily.”
“Angrily?”
“We’re not in a fight if we’re not angry, and I can’t get angry right now, so you’re going to have to do it for me.”
His hand wraps around mine, and then he kisses my knuckles. “I’ll do my best.”
“You’re already failing.”
“I’m strangely okay with that.” His free hand reaches up to brush the hair from my forehead, and my eyes close automatically as I nudge him for more. His fingers in my hair are so damn relaxing, and if it was up to me, he’d never leave. Ever. He’d stay here and be as constantly bored as I am. “You’re a lot more alert today.”
I nod, blinking my eyes back open, and as he takes his hand from my hair, I pull the other closer, hugging it to my chest. “Yeah. Feel good. One hundred percent. I think they can discharge me now.”
“Nice try.”
“Was it?”
“Not even a little bit.” Some of the sweetness he’s radiating dims as he swipes his tongue over his lips, doubt slowly creeping in. “I, ah … I’m sorry about your bracelet.”
My bitterness about it tries to take over. “Yeah. Guess I was probably getting too old for it or something. Luther did me a favor.”
“Did he?”
“Some people would say so.”
“Are you some people?”
Of course he calls my bluff, and of course I can’t lie to him. “I should be.”
His lips twitch, and then he reaches down into his pocket. When he lifts his hand where I can see it again, he’s holding his fist out to me.
I frown as I glance from it to him and back again. “You want a fist bump?”
“No.” He laughs. “This is … well, you’re not Perry without a happy charm.”
A happy charm?
The monitor beeping beside me gets louder as St. Clare turns over his hand and peels his fingers back. There, resting in his palm is … I shake my head, sure I must be hallucinating.
