Page 52 of Hurt

There was a pleasant smile on Noah’s face, like he was happy. A far cry from the furrowed eyebrows and intimidating glare from the bus station. His laugh was lovely—like tinkling bells but without being overly effeminate. When he smiled wide, two dimples appeared in his cheeks, and they sent little thrills into Elijah’s heart.

“Do you want something to drink?” Noah asked. “My uncle isn’t here, but I can get you something.”

“Ginger ale?”

“Boring,” Noah said, not unkindly. He fetched the drink and popped the top for Elijah.

“So, what do you do?” he asked as he watched Elijah take the soda in his left hand and drink it.

Elijah paused and looked at him over the soda. “I’m a personal assistant.”

Noah tapped his fingers on the bar. “Right. Personal assistants always have a wrist sheath hidden under their jackets?”

He almost dropped the can. He was so surprised. Not even Jamie could tell when he was wearing it or not.

“Probably good for taking notes.” He rolled his eyes and pushed off the bar, grabbing a bucket and going to clear the table where a trucker was enjoying a mid-morning beer with a large bowl of peanuts. Noah propped the bucket on his hip while he chatted with the man.

Elijah was staring at him. His brain was in overdrive, and he didn’t know what to do about it. It was him. The boy he promised to stay away from but somehow ended up talking to anyway. His accent was different, a little more northern and his eyes flashed with whatever emotion he was feeling. Noah was smart too and funny.

Elijah wondered what he had done in a previous life to deserve this kind of torment.

Dropping his forehead on the bar, he forced himself not to stare after the man. He looked younger up close and was probably the same height as Elijah. He was filing all these seemingly useless facts away so he could cling to them later.

Elijah had never had a crush before, but he suspected that he had surpassed the crush stage and was in full-blown obsession now. Why it had to happen now, to him of all people, he didn’t know.

He poked at his wrist and let the pain calm his ridiculous thoughts. There was only one way to proceed. Elijah would simply have to ignore Noah. Keep a respectful distance and maintain a cool professionalism. The kind that Roland had exhibited for many years.

Although, recent events might indicate that his boss was not nearly as cool and collected as he let on and was not the best person to base his actions on. The man was violent when it came to love, apparently.

Perhaps, Grant would be the wiser one to emulate.

But again, he had his underlings do questionably legal borderline stalking research into the object of his affections. So maybe he wasn’t a good option either.

Wallace. That was who he should look to. The man didn’t even associate with anyone outside of Weaver Syndicate and certainly didn’t let foolish things like exceedingly long eyelashes framing eyes the color of caramel beguile him. Or delicate fingers that would be lovely to hold. And he certainly wasn’t thinking about the way copper-colored hair would fan over a pillow on a lazy Sunday morning, with the sun filtering in through the blinds and—

“It’s been ten minutes.”

Noah’s arrival made Elijah jerk his head up. Wide-eyed, he stared at Noah uncomprehendingly.

Without asking permission, Noah knocked the bag off and took the wrap he had discarded earlier. Rerolling it, he efficiently applied a comfortable compression bandage around Elijah’s injured wrist.

Elijah stared up at Noah, and he felt his heart contract. Whether it was anxiety or the psychosomatic feel of a cupid’s arrow, he’ll never know.

11

EVERY SUNDAY’S GETTING MORE BLEAK, A FRESH POISON EACH WEEK

Roland showed up in an expensive-looking car. The black paint was shiny and new looking. Even after driving on the gravel road, it was still clean, as if even the dust was afraid of angering the Weavers.

Maybe that’s why they could wear so much white.

Kurt pressed his nose right up against the bar window. He was looking through a sliver of chipped black paint so he could spy on the parking lot. Willow had spent the morning tearing through their apartment, looking for something to wear. She wasn’t sure if she should try to match Roland’s suits or wear what she would normally.

Noah told her she should wear one of her dancing outfits. Kurt thought it was funny.

They were both kicked out of the apartment.

So now he was stuck spying through the blacked-out window like a creeper. Elijah had come in a few minutes ago but hadn’t spared Kurt a glance. He seemed to be out of sorts, stammering like an idiot while Noah tended to his wrist.