Out of Love(13)

Chapter Six





If I was home alone, Jericho was perched at the door. How did he know—either Jericho or Slade—that I was alone? It was both incredibly comforting and oddly frightening. The man who had spoken less than twenty words to me seemed to know a lot about my whereabouts and that of my roommates.

More than that … he knew I needed protection.

This went on for weeks. Every day I tried to get the nerve to ask that unanswered question. Did he kill that man?

Slade went from vigilante to total enigma in a matter of a month.

“Coffee?” I stepped over his legs to sit next to him in class, something I hadn’t done since the day he threatened my tongue. “Or tea?” I eased into the chair, trying to not spill either hot drink. “I’m good with either. You just come across as a coffee person. I’ll set it by your feet. So don’t knock it over.” I placed the cup by his black-booted foot.

“No worries, Jerry. I didn’t forget about you.” I retrieved a dehydrated duck neck from the Barkery bag in the side pocket of my backpack and leaned my torso over Slade’s lap to hand it to Jericho.

His lethal glare hadn’t eased up much since our first encounter, but he managed to hold his tongue and the disturbing threats I knew sat on the end of it, waiting to intimidate me. After Jericho took the treat, I slowly lifted my chest from Slade’s legs, resting my hand on his thigh to steady myself as his gaze ensnared me in a bubble of something so intoxicating my lips had to part to find my next breath.

“You smell good,” I whispered, not meaning to say the words aloud. When his gaze shifted to my hand on his leg, I lifted it slowly in a silent “oops” as if I didn’t mean to touch him. Our eyes remained locked in place for several moments like an unbreakable trance.

And … I said it.

The words tumbled softly from my lips, yet desperately from the pit of my stomach. “Did you save me from that man?”

Slade’s lack of any sort of reaction did nothing to answer my question. And before I could press him more for an answer, the professor started to speak. Ten minutes before the end of the class, Slade made his usual early departure, but not before leaning down and snatching the coffee to take with him. It put a huge smile on my face.

Twenty minutes later, I arrived at my tree for my morning nap, but a dark, sexy guy and his dog were in my spot.

“I realize you’ve been off campus for a few years.” I dropped my bag on the opposite side of the tree. “But during that time, I made claim to this tree. It’s common knowledge, like the house you’re living in is haunted. However, since I kinda love Jerry, I’ll share the shade with you two.”

If Slade’s chest hadn’t been rising and falling, I would have thought he was dead. Eyes closed. Hands resting at his sides. Jericho smiled at me, and I winked at him, digging a pear out of my bag. I started to take a seat on the opposite side of the tree but feeling a little more confident than I did during our last tree encounter, I took a seat right next to Jericho and shared my pear with him.

“We’re not friends,” Slade said without so much as peeking open one eye.

I bit off a piece of my pear and fed it to Jericho, leaning over and kissing his soft, erect ear. “That’s fine. Jerry’s my friend. And he’s infinitely more awesome than any man I have ever been friends with.”

“Jericho.”

Ignoring his correction, I took several more bites from the pear and offered the rest to Jericho. “I’m from San Francisco. Where are you from? Here?”

When he ignored me—not at all surprising—I continued the conversation as though he was partaking in it. “Oh, wow! You’re from Montana. I wouldn’t have taken you for a Montana guy. You have more of a Carolinas vibe to you. I went to Asheville last summer with my friends. It’s beautiful. Siblings? Yes, I have an older sister, but she moved to France five years ago. Oh … really? You’re an only child? I can see that about you. I think it’s your poor social and conversational skills that give it away.”

The humor died quickly with his total indifference to engage in any sort of personal interaction. Even with my morbid curiosity about him living in the firehouse or staying out until the wee hours of the morning, I could have given up on Slade the asshole. However, the tiny possibility that he saved me that night or even if he just heard about it and chose to protect me through Jericho … well, it made it impossible to walk away—even if he didn’t acknowledge me.

I crawled around Jericho, nestling myself on my back between him and Slade. Staring up at the trees, I let the back of my hand brush his. “Wylder …” I whispered. “Was it you?”

He jackknifed to sitting and grabbed his bag. With the slightest of nods, he gestured for Jericho. I didn’t sit up or say another word. I didn’t try to make him stay. I closed my eyes and imagined him taking a life for me.

The problem? I had no idea why he would do that or if he did it.

*

Later that day, I knew I should stay away, but my feet automatically took me there. I couldn’t resist peeking in on Slade in his garage.

Sculptures.

He welded sculptures. That was what I’d deduced from the configurations on the floor, like a puzzle waiting to be put together. Like everything I thought I knew about Slade Wylder, it was just speculation.