Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(69)

Something in the back of his mind told him to slow down and think of the future. To have a care that they were setting themselves up for heartbreak. But he had listened to that voice for far too long and all it had brought him was misery.

Not today.

He wasn’t thinking about consequences, rules, or impossibilities. He was only thinking of the present. And right now, the present was yawning and stretching in the most adorable, sexy way possible.

When her eyes cracked open, he said, “Good morning, huli jing.”

“Bo,” she said in a sleep-rough whisper as she rolled around to face him. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.” Her voice was small and fragile, and hearing it did something funny to his heart.

“If you’re dreaming, I must be dreaming, too,” he said, pushing back the blanket to look at her.

“Oh good.” She kissed him lightly on the lips and winced, slipping a hand between her legs. “I’m sore. And you . . . are not,” she said, eyes widening as she looked down between them.

“Don’t pay any attention to that. I have to piss like the devil, and until that goes down a little, it’s going to be nearly impossible. I’m sorry you’re sore.”

Her brows lifted. “You don’t sound sorry.”

“Mmm.” He fought down a smile. “Not sorry for what we did, but I don’t like you being in pain.”

“It’s a good pain. I feel like I’ve been fighting in a battle.”

She looked like it, too. Rosy spots were scattered across her neck and breasts, and three small bruises, impressions left by his fingers, darkened the pale skin around her hip bone. Shameful, perhaps, but he bore her brand on him, too: an angry red scratch down his thigh, a bite mark on his forearm, and stinging claw marks on his back. She inspected him, looking rather pleased with herself, and then blinked rapidly and twisted around to peer outside the windows.

“Bo! The sun! It’s not raining.”

Morning sun gilded the surface of the ocean and reflected back a dazzling light so bright, it made him squint. Not a cloud in the sky and no wind battering the trees along the cliffs. How long had it been since the storms began? Three weeks? He hadn’t seen the sun in three weeks.

“Oh, Bo,” she murmured. “It’s like it’s just for us. A sign that everything is right. Let’s go outside. I want to feel it.”

“The fog’s still rolling back down toward the city, and it’s early. Give it a little time to warm up out there. How about a nice hot bath first? Might make you feel better.”

“Together?” she said.

“It’s an old tub, but it’s big.”

She smiled her consent, and they spent the better part of an hour in the big bathtub, mostly lounging and exploring each other’s bodies. She was too sore for anything else—that quickly became obvious to Bo. He forced her to take aspirin, and they helped bathed each other, which was a small but satisfying pleasure, then groomed themselves as best they could with what meager supplies the cottage provided.

After dressing in last night’s clothes, they scrounged the small kitchen for a breakfast of soda crackers, peanut butter, and hot tea. The tea was Bo’s private stash of Longjing Dragon Well tea, imported from China, and for which he’d traded Canadian whiskey. The teacups were mismatched and the plates chipped, but Astrid didn’t seem to care. Dressed in their coats, they took their meager meal outside in the briny morning air to a small stone table that overlooked the ocean, and with the blanket from the bed wrapped around them, ate while the sun continued to rise.

Astrid curled her fingers around the hot teacup and inhaled deeply. “This is perfect. Let’s stay here and never leave.”

“And what would we do for money?”

“That is a problem, isn’t it?” She lay her head on his shoulder and tugged the blanket tighter around them. A seagull sailed in front of them and landed on the cottage roof with a loud squawk. When the bird settled down, she said, “Bo? I need to tell you something.”

His heart skittered inside his chest, but he tried not to let any panic show. “You can always tell me anything, unconditionally.”

“I know. It’s just that I’m a little ashamed of this. Well, a lot. Do you remember when we went to the Anthropology annex to see Lowe and Hadley, and you asked me what Hadley and I discussed privately?”

“And you refused to tell me. Yes, I remember.”

“Well . . . the thing is, I’d asked for her advice because I’m doing poorly in school. My grades are terrible across the board, but Luke, that is, Professor Barnes, failed me.”

Bo felt a flush of anger in the center of his chest. “That rotten, dirty pig. He lures you into sleeping with him and then turns around and fails you?”

“He didn’t lure me. I’m not defending him—”

“That man should be suspended from his post. And I’m not just saying that because I want to choke the life out of him for touching you.”

She put a hand on his wrist. “I know you do. But the fact of the matter is that I stopped going to class. So they are threatening to expel me.”

Oh. That wasn’t good. At all.

Bo didn’t know how to feel about this, but he could see plainly that Astrid was anxiously avoiding his eyes. “Maybe Lowe could talk to somebody,” he suggested. “After all, he works for U.C. Berkeley.”