Page 21 of Inferno
“Reruns mainly,” I say, vaguely, not willing to admit that I don’t have a TV or cable.
“Go and sit while I clean up. You can find us something to watch.” His tone is so…normal, like me being at his house is just an everyday occurrence and not something that has never happened before and shouldn’t be happening now.
I know I should protest, that I should have been arguing and fighting his high-handed orders since he told me to get in his car. But I had the protest beaten out of me years ago, and now, unless I’m in genuine danger, the path of least resistance is usually the most pain-free for me to travel. “I can wash the dishes if you want,” I say, not wanting to seem rude for not offering to help.
“I’ve got it. Find us a show to watch,” he says. “The remote should be on the coffee table. We get all the cable channels up here, despite it being the side of the mountain.”
Pushing out of my chair, I slowly cross the room and sink down into the very corner of the plush couch. The cushions suck me in, and I swallow back a groan that fights to escape from my lips.
I don’t think I’ve ever sat on such a comfortable couch. It’s soft and squishy, and despite me saying I won’t sleep, I’m confident if I close my eyes on this couch, I’ll be asleep in moments.
After taking a minute to appreciate how comfortable I am, I spot the remote on the low coffee table in front of me and lean forward to grab it. Pressing the power button, the huge TV on the wall lights up, and I stare at it for a minute, unsure how to even access the channel menu.
“It’s the big button in the middle,” Anders calls from behind me, like he can once again hear my thoughts.
Pressing the button, I scroll the guide and settle on a rerun of a generic sitcom. It’s not something I regularly watch, but it’s not offensive and doesn’t require a huge amount of concentration.
Honestly, if I had a TV or access to my own internet, I’d probably watch a lot of stuff, but because I don’t, I don’t really know what shows are currently popular. I don’t want to look like a fool for having never seen something the rest of society is watching, so a rerun feels like the least potentially humiliating choice.
Exhaling, I let my body relax even further into the couch, trying to concentrate on what’s happening on the screen and not on what Anders is doing behind me. I wish I was confident enough to ask what exactly it is I’m doing here and what he meant when he told me I was his, but I’m just not.
I don’t feel equipped to deal with a guy like Anders. So instead of asking all the questions that are cycling through my mind, I press my lips together and stay quiet, hoping that in the morning he’ll have gotten over whatever it was that drove him to bring me here instead of taking me back to my place.
Oddly, despite the fact that I’ve barely said two words since we got here, Anders isn’t giving off any frustrated energy. Instead, his presence is weirdly calming, just like his home has felt since I stepped through the door. If he wasn’t terrifyingly attractive and intimidatingly bossy, he’d probably be someone that I’d enjoy spending time with.
In another world he could have been someone that could help me navigate my life as a gay man with zero experience with gay men, but obviously this whole “you’re mine” thing has ruined that. Once he realizes he’s made a mistake, things will be awkward, and there won’t even be a possibility of us being friendly acquaintances.
I startle when the cushion beside me sinks and Anders sits down. His couch is more than big enough for him to have sat down in the other corner and given us both plenty of space, but instead he’s right beside me, his thigh pressed tightly against mine.
“What are you watching, Kitten?” he purrs.
“Oh, it’s an old show about cops,” I say vaguely, because I can’t remember what the show is called.
“Do you like it?” he asks, and his question feels like he’s asking about more than just the TV show.
“It was just the first thing I found,” I admit breathily, swallowing down the scent of his woodsy cologne.
“Tell me about you,” he says, twisting in his seat to face me.
Pointedly avoiding looking at him, I keep my eyes fixed on the TV until a rough finger curls beneath my chin, turning me to look at him.
“Did you forget?” he asks. “I told you to look at me when we’re talking.”
Goose bumps rush across my skin, and my breath freezes in my lungs as I try not to look at him but find myself incapable of stopping as my gaze lifts to his face.
“Tell me about you,” he repeats, filling his words with an undeniable order that I’m unable to resist.
“I’m twenty-two,” I whisper.
“So young,” he purrs, running the pad of his thumb over my jaw. “Keep going.”
“I graduated from Montana State last year.”
“What’s your degree in?”
“Business administration.”
“That’s amazing,” he praises, like he’s genuinely proud of me, even though we’re strangers. “Why do you live alone? Where is your family?” he pushes.
