Wayward Son (Simon Snow, #2)(57)
I knock my face into his. I hang over him.
This is the point, the proximity, where I usually pull away.
“Can I?” I say, pressing in. I’m not sure he’ll hear me, over everything.
BAZ
His hair is sticky with dust. His face is cold and damp. He’s clumsy like this. Hitting me with his chest. Shouldering me. Butting my head back into the metal of the truck.
I touch Simon Snow like he’s made of glass. Like he’ll explode if I cross the wrong wires.
He touches me like he can’t decide whether to push or pull me, and he’s settled on both.
I go where he wants. I take what I can get.
“Can I?” he asks.
Can you what, Simon? Kiss me? Kill me? Break my heart?
I touch him like he’s made of butterfly wings.
“You don’t have to ask.” I say it loud enough that he’ll hear me, over everything.
SIMON
Cold lips, cold mouth.
I’ve never heard Baz’s heartbeat.
And I’ve lain all night with my head on his chest.
BAZ
My favourite part of kissing Simon when he’s cold is the way he goes warm in my hands. Like I’m the living campfire. Like I’m the one who lives. I warm him in my arms, and then he warms me in his. He gives it all back to me.
SIMON
I’d give him all that I am.
I’d give him all that I was.
I’d open up a vein.
* * *
I’d tie our hearts together, chamber by chamber.
BAZ
It’s good, it’s good, it’s so good.
And I resist demanding an explanation.
Why now, what’s the key? How do I get back here tomorrow? Promise to let me back in.
Sometimes Simon kisses me like it’s the end of the world, and I worry he might believe that it is.
* * *
The truck stops too soon. Shepard doesn’t want to drive into Vegas at night. “We’re less likely to get noticed in the morning,” he says.
He pulls into a campground, and all four of us bed down in the back of the truck, Penny between Simon and me, for safety. There’s only one sleeping bag, but I spell the truck soft with “Cushion the blow!”
Shepard can’t get over it. He keeps jumping up and down like a kid in a bouncy castle.
“So,” Bunce says, “what do you know about this hotel we’re headed to?”
“The Katherine?” he says. “It’s one of the vampire hotels. The oldest, I think. The parties there are infamous—every night in the penthouse suite.”
“There are vampire hotels?” Simon asks.
“There are vampire everything in Vegas,” Shepard says. “There are probably vampire dry cleaners. Vampire taxis. Vampire accountants…”
“I thought you said you’ve never met a vampire,” I say.
“I haven’t. I hadn’t.”
“So how do you know where they party?”
“I know people who know,” Shepard says. “Well. Not exactly people…”
Bunce huffs. “So we’re going to crash a vampire party and hope your charm attack works on them? ‘Hi, I’m Shepard, and I just want to be friends. Please tell me all your vampire secrets.’”
“God, no,” Shepard says. “I’d get drained. Vampires are notoriously tight-lipped. They keep to their own.”
“So?” Bunce asks.
“So I’m not going to do any of that. Baz is.”
42
AGATHA
I’m awake. I’m not sure if I’m still in my room.
I think I’m waiting for Braden.
* * *
He came yesterday while I was still eating breakfast, and he looked so happy to see me that I found myself smiling back at him. For a moment I felt so ridiculous. Why was I worrying? I’d been given my own room at a luxury retreat. I was being courted by the sort of guy who shows up in Vanity Fair, under “Vanities.”
He sat on my bed. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I said. “What’s on the docket today? I think Ginger and I were supposed to meditate. Or possibly mediate … I’m game for either.”
“Agatha…” Braden said. “I want to really talk to you.”
“Haven’t we been really talking? It’s felt like so much talking.”
“I want to be honest,” he said.
I heroically resisted rolling my eyes. “Of course.”
“Agatha, you’re a perfect specimen.”
“Braden, I know you’re in health care, but girls don’t like being called a ‘specimen.’”
He laughed. “You’re so funny.”
“I thought we were being honest.”
He laughed louder and took my hand. “Agatha … I know what you are.” He was still smiling at me.
Not a single muscle moved in my face. “I told you everything I am.”