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“What makes you say that?” I huff.

“Tortured souls are drawn to each other. That’s what my father says anyway.”

He was drawn to me. At least that’s what it sounds like, and his admission makes me feel good. I take my fingers and impulsively trail one of the tattoos on his hand that he’s set on the table, feeling the static buzz at my touch. He closes his eyes and doesn’t move a muscle.

“Feels good,” he quietly mutters. I pull away, and he opens his eyes, quickly clearing his throat.

“What makes you think I’m tortured?”

“The amount of glass I cleaned in this place was astronomical.” His arm twitches. He wants me to touch him, but he won’t say it. He stands abruptly, cleaning up the remnants of glass and returning the supplies to the bathroom. “I would tell you to get a new mirror, but I know you won’t.”

He returns again, leaning against the wall keeping the distance between us.

“What is there to look at?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll look at you for the both of us.”

I train my eyes on the wall and tap the fingers of my uninjured hand on the table. “What did you make?”

“Thought you looked like someone who likes pasta. I should get going.” He gives me a small smile and starts to leave.

“Wait,” I say quickly. Aedon stops in the doorway but doesn’t face me. I don’t want him to go yet. I can’t fall back into the abyss I crawled from.

“Yes?” His voice is gruff.

“Stay. Eat with me. I mean you made dinner might as well eat some since you’re here.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever put myself out there. My inner demons are begging for his presence, crawling on hands and knees toward him. When he turns around, he looks like he’s thinking about saying no. He’s full of shit. All he does is ask me to stay.

“I suppose I could,” he says with a smirk, closing the front door and rooting in the cabinets for plates. Without asking, he piles pasta and sauce on one and brings it to me.

In my apartment, things feel different. Maybe it’s because he’s in my personal space. It’s making me feel vulnerable, but after last night all I want is his company, even if I want to think I don’t. I can allow myself one night. I want him to stay so badly that it hurts. When his presence starts disappearing it feels like a loss, and I grieve it.

“Where did you learn to cook?” I ask, twirling the noodles onto my fork before stuffing them into my mouth. It’s divine, of course. I’ve been on a liquid diet for days.

He grabs two glasses from a cabinet and fills them with fresh water. “My mother. She thought it was important.”

“The whiskey is over there.” I nod to the bar cart.

“I think you’ve had enough of that for at least twenty-four hours.” Aedon has a point. We eat in comfortable silence, unlike when we were at The Alibi. He isn’t pressing me for information, and it’s kind of unnerving. I’m used to the games.

“You’re not going to grill me?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“No.”

Hoots and hollers erupt from the open window. Something crashes, and it’s followed by fits of laughter.

“I see why you like it,” he says unsolicited when we finish eating. He picks up the dishes and cleans them. It’s such a basic thing, but it turns me on. This man who has the looks of a god and oozes luxury is just doing mundane tasks.

“Like what?” I ask, trying to suppress my arousal.

“This place. It's loud and distracting. Do people always party like that outside?”

“Not always.”

“Sounds like they’re having fun.” When I don’t say anything, he tries to recover. “I should go. You’ll be okay?”