Song for the Dead: An Ada Palomino Novel, стр. 32
“Self-tanner, huh?” he says, running his hand over his jaw, then looking down at his body. “You think?”
I shake my head, still marveling at him. The six-pack abs that are hard enough to grate cheese on, the sharp V of his hips, the kind of chest and shoulders that Chris Hemsworth has to suffer for. “No,” I say absently. “Actually, you’re fine the way you are.”
“Good to know.”
“I don’t know how Rose could pass this up,” I find myself saying.
He grunts. “How about we don’t bring her up today? I’ve already got a hangover.”
“Sorry,” I say, meeting his eyes. “It was a compliment.”
“Is this nice Ada or extra-nice Ada?” he muses.
“It’s just me,” I say. Then against my better judgement I reach out and run my fingers over his chest, down his abs, his skin warm and still wet from the shower. “I don’t get it.”
He clears his throat. “What?”
I walk around him, running my fingers over his back, feeling the energy flow from my skin to his. I know this is doing him some good. That’s why I’m doing this.
“How you could be in this same body for centuries and not have a scratch on you.”
“I heal fast,” he says, voice thick.
“Apparently so,” I tell him, coming back around to face him. “Not even a scar.”
“I carry my scars on the inside,” he says gruffly.
Then he reaches down and grabs the hem of his towel, adjusting it, and a flush of heat goes through me. Is this…am I turning him on?
I bring my eyes to his.
He looks uncomfortable, his brows knitted together. “Would you do me a favor and get me another coffee?” he says, clearing his throat again, his voice husky. “Gonna need one for the road.”
I nod quickly. “Sure.”
Then I whirl around and head out of the room. The minute the door closes behind me I lean back against it and exhale loudly.
Okay, so despite always feeling super comfortable around Max, especially in a physical sense, I guess there’s a line in which he starts to feel uncomfortable, and I’m pretty sure I just crossed that line. I mean, I was totally innocent in my touchy-feely fingers, I didn’t think I would have any sort of effect on him. Certainly didn’t think I’d give the man an erection, which I’m pretty sure he was trying to hide.
Then again, I am a woman and he’s a man and maybe any dude would get turned on in that situation. I feel so out of practice when it comes to the opposite sex.
Either way, I make it a point to behave going forward. We have a really good thing going, and I don’t want anything to ruin our easy-breezy relationship.
Then again, I’m not sure how easy-breezy it really is when my mere presence is what’s keeping him in this world. How the fuck are we ever going to come to terms with the implications of that?
You need more coffee, I remind myself. Stew on that heavy shit later.
So I go and get two more cups of coffee from the breakfast room, snagging a couple of sucky-looking apples from the buffet for later, pretending that I’m going to only have healthy snacks today, then I head back to the room to see Max standing in the doorway fully dressed, dark jeans, leather jacket, green flannel, holding our suitcases in his hand, my purse on his shoulder.
“Need anything else from the room?” he asks, looking like a pack mule.
I shake my head and hold up the coffees. “Got everything I need right here.”
We head over to the Super B and Max piles everything in the trunk, pausing by the windshield to groan in frustration again.
“We can get it fixed,” I tell him.
He mumbles something in response and unlocks the door.
“You okay to drive?” I ask. “I got you home in one piece last night.”
“I’ll be fine.”
We both get in, and I hand him his coffee. He takes a moment to drink it down like it’s cold water on a hot day.
“Max,” I comment, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, “you know that’s weird, right? There’s a reason they put warning labels on those lids.”
“What, like it’s hot?” he says, a surprisingly pitch perfect impression of Elle Woods in Legally Blonde.
“You are full of surprises this morning,” I tell him as he starts the engine, the car purring to life.
“Just trying to keep you on your toes, Blondie,” he says, before slamming the car into reverse. We go screaming backward through the parking lot before he shoves it into drive and we peel it out of the driveway and onto the highway.
He laughs and I have to laugh too. My god, this car is fun. We’re fun.
“Next stop, California,” I yelp, rolling down the window enough to get that ocean breeze in my hair, closing my eyes to the sun as Max turns up the music, Ozzy’s “Crazy Train” playing on cue.
We leave Oregon in the dust.
Nine
“I drift along the ocean, dead lifeboats in the sun. And come undone.”
– No One Knows
“Well, this place is a shithole,” I say, staring out the window at the stiff-jawed junkies twitching past vacant office buildings, the grey sky above seeming to suck the color right out of Eureka, California.
“Always has been,” Max comments, eyeing the streets as we drive past. “Only good thing to come out of this place is Mr. Bungle. Unfortunately, we have to stop for gas.”
“You’ve been here before?” I ask.
He nods. “Long time ago. Didn’t stay long then either.”
Now if there were going to be demons anywhere, this would seem like the place. Thank god we’re just stopping for gas and not staying the night.
Today has been a long-ass drive and we’re not done yet. Highway 101 took us into California and off the coast through the redwoods