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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ST. CLARE

I’m well and truly ready to sleep and finally rid my mind of the image of Perry sitting on the couch in his underwear, legs propped up on the coffee table as he rubbed cream between his thighs. The hitched breaths and moans were torture and becoming impossible to shake from my memories.

I already jerked off in the shower. I’d say it was a weak moment, but it’s been building inside me all day, and the relief that flowed through my limbs as I touched myself thinking of him was too much to resist.

And now, thanks to that pornographic display of first aid, I’m going to have to do it again.

Perry is fucking with my head. He’s not sure of anything anymore? Fuck me. He’s either one of those straight guys who get off on a gay man’s attention, or he’s not so straight, and knowing that’s a possibility is breathing new life into my attraction.

I tuck my hands behind my head, staring up at the dark ceiling. There are so many more important things I should be thinking about—Colin, who wants me dead, whether I’m still going to be alive in a week—that it takes real power on Perry’s end to be the one coming out on top.

He has that vibe about him that makes everyone want to pay attention .

And when they don’t, he unintentionally does something stupid that gets their attention anyway.

My lips tug up in a smile over that.

Do I really think Perry is an idiot? Not at all. Under the negative self-talk and his external optimism over just about everything else is a smart man who loves his sister and is struggling to find his way out of a bad situation.

A situation he put himself in, sure, but he figured it out soon enough.

I’m sure there are plenty more people out there who would have kept going until their bullet hit. And even more people who would have killed me as soon as their own life was on the line.

But instead of that option, he wants to team up and get to the bottom of this.

Because above everything, Perry is a good person.

I’d said we’re more alike than I thought, but deep down, I’m not so sure I am a good person. Friendly and generally kind to people fits, but where Perry is putting what’s right first, I don’t think I’d be able to make that call. I’m too selfish.

Which isn’t a fun realization to have.

Maybe I’m better off smothering myself with a pillow—at least then I’ll do Perry a favor by finishing the job for him—and then Lars won’t need to worry about being dragged into this mess that has literally nothing to do with him.

Maybe I should check my horoscope for tomorrow and see if offing myself is in my future.

There’s a soft knock at the door, derailing those thoughts.

“Yeah?” I call out, not bothering to get up. Lars probably wants to complain about Perry some more—or do a sweep of the room to make sure he hasn’t snuck in here to kill me in my sleep—and I really don’t need to be standing for either of those things.

Instead of Lars though, I glance over to see Perry slipping through the small opening and quickly closing the door behind himself. His appearance makes me sit up immediately, but he doesn’t have his gun.

In fact, as he leans back against the door, I realize he doesn’t have much of anything. Just the too-small novelty shirt, which, by the way it clings to his muscles, was more of a gift for me than him, and his navy boxer briefs. Those are at least the right size for him, but as my gaze lingers on his crotch, I can make out just as much as through his T-shirt.

I suck a quick breath in through my nose. “What are you doing?”

“Ah …” His hands are tucked behind him, and he taps his fingers against the door. “Wanted to … say hey.”

“Hey,” I respond dryly, eyeing the nervous body language and the way that, even though he’s in my room, he looks like he’s trying to put as much distance between us as possible. “Was that all?”

“Yes.” He jerks to the side, like he’s going to walk out again, but stops. His chest rises on a deep breath. “No.”

“No?”

“Lars thinks I’m going to die,” rushes from him.

“He what?”

Some of Perry’s awkwardness fades as he paces to the center of the room. “With Luther. Thinks that I’m probably going to be killed tomorrow, and I know it’s probably not fair complaining about this to you, but I don’t actually want to die. Even if it might seem like an easy way to avoid Margot’s disappointment, I can’t fix any of it if I’m dead. And I want to fix things. A lot of things. Too many things to die.”

I pat the bed beside me, and Perry doesn’t hesitate to take up the spot. “You said you trust Luther.”

“I do! Did. I mean, I don’t think he’ll hurt me or anything, but then Lars put the what-if in my head, and now I’m having a case of the doubts.”

“I think that’s normal.”

His breathing is loud, like he’s working himself up. “There’s so much I haven’t done yet.”

I tilt my head, curious. “Like what?”

“Like … I can’t solve a Rubik’s cube. Or play an instrument. And I’ve never skipped a rock, like, ever. ”

“You don’t want to die because you’ve never skipped a rock?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.” His voice takes on that sweetly indignant higher pitch. “We didn’t go to the water much as a kid. I can barely swim.”

I wouldn’t have guessed that. Actually, I wouldn’t have guessed any of his list because when I think about why I don’t want to die, it’s as simple as I want to keep going with my life. Not that I have this list of random things I’ve never done. “Well, why don’t you get through tomorrow, and then we’ll both go to the beach and learn how to skip rocks together?”

“You don’t know how to either?”

“Nope. I didn’t realize that was a huge failure on my part.”

His dark eyes meet mine, gaze flicking from one eye to the other. “What’s one thing you’ve always wished you could do?”

“I have spent exactly zero percent of my time thinking of the answer to that question.”

His lips twitch, and he nudges me. “Think now.”

What do I always wish I’d done? There’re plenty of things that look fun. Skydiving, riding a Jet Ski, running a train on someone, but while they sound great in theory, I’m not so sure I’d ever actually want to experience them. I’m an okay cook, and I have no interest in being more than that. I don’t want a garden or to learn an instrument or to raise a herd of wild mountain goats … Finally, after dismissing what feels like every hobby on Earth, I land on something super simple. Something that looks easy, that my cousins used to do all the time, and that I never mastered.

“It would be cool to roller-skate.”

“Oooh, that’s a good one.”

Of course that’s his response. “I don’t actually want to go roller-skating or anything; I just want to do it. Once. So I know that I can.”

Perry holds out his hand. “When we’ve both got the all clear, and Colin’s found, and Margot’s no longer pissed with me, we’ll learn those things.”

Considering his list of tasks to do first feels impossible, there’s no risk when I reach out and shake his hand. “Deal. ”

“We have a lot of deals.”

“We do. And I can’t help but notice you’re the one who comes up with them all.”

He taps his temple with his free hand. “I’m the brains behind this operation.”

“And what am I? Because we both know it isn’t the brawn.”

Perry’s gaze immediately drops to my bare chest. It lingers there for long enough to make my skin prickle, and his thumb slides across the back of my hand he’s still holding.

Perry swallows. Loudly.

“So there’s, umm …” he whispers. “There’s one thing that I … that if I die, I’d sort of like to do first.”

Fuck. Just his voice and stare is enough for my nipples to harden. I really, really need Perry to stop looking at me like that, and then I need him to get the hell out of my room so I can jerk off again.

Big, sweet, and beautifully dopey. I have no idea why my body has decided it’s suddenly obsessed with him, but I guess this is the torture I’m dealing with until further notice.

“St. Clare?”

Was he talking? “Yeah?”

“Do … do you want to know what that is?”

I have to kick-start my brain to remember what he said. “The thing you want to do before you die?” I internally cringe at the way I word that, but fuck it. My brain is at half capacity, and I’m glad I have the sheets pulled up over my waist because the tent I’m pitching would be enough to poke out his eye.

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

His hand tightens around mine, and he looks half-terrified, half-hopeful as he says, “I’ve never kissed a man before.”

“Oh.” The confession steals all the breath from my lungs.

“And I’d really like to kiss you.”