Page 89 of The Fake Divination Offense
Her protectiveness seems to be in favor of Bel, so I’ll let it stand. The more people looking out for him, the better. Even if they’re looking suspiciously atme.
“You’re dismissed,” Roesia says. Then adds, “Good work, both of you.” But her tone is flat.
Bel and I stand and make our way out of her office. In unspoken agreement, we leave HQ in silence; there’s just the swishing of our bags against my hip where I carry them both.
Gulus is still on that bench.
I ignore him—that’s for the best, right?—and head to my car in the private lot. Stiff, I open the door for Bel, toss our bags in the trunk, and climb into the driver’s seat.
And sit there.
Bel wiggles on the seat and winces.
I look at him, but he doesn’t look at me, his cheeks red.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Fine,” he says too quickly. He wanes, amends with, “I’m fine. It’s sore, yeah. But…” His blush intensifies, flooding his cheeks, his neck. “I like the reminder of you,” he whispers.
Fuuuuuuck me.
I want to ask more aboutthat, but if we start talking about his ass, things are going to take a sexual turn, and there’s something beneath his surface I’m not seeing.
Silence falls. Again. He keeps staring out the windshield, seemingly unaware I haven’t even started the car yet, his face set in a worried frown.
“Think we should set Roesia up with Ilbryen?” I ask.
Bel flings a perplexed look at me. “What?”
I shrug, curling and uncurling one hand around the steering wheel. “They both give off the same alpha feminine energy. What’s the phrase?Boss bitch?I dunno. I think they could handle each other.”
Bel gapes at me. I keep filling the silence.
“It’d be pretty terrifying for the rest of us, though. But I think they’d be benevolent overlords once we surrender to their invincible team-up, so we should—”
“None of this is real, is it?”
My mouth slams shut.
Bel looks horrified that he spoke. His eyes are round, and his chest flickers in a quick inhale.
He locks his arms around himself and whips to face the windshield.
“Are we going straight to your place?” he asks in a small voice. “Or can I get some stuff from my—”
“Why wouldn’t it be real?”
He drops his eyes to his lap. “Please let it go. I didn’t mean to say that.”
I reach across the console and pull one of his arms out to take his hand.
“I don’t want to go back to letting things go with you,” I whisper. “Tell me what you meant. Please?”
He swallows, still not looking at me, and fights an internal war for a few quiet moments before he snaps his eyes shut. “I’m not moving in with you and meeting your parents because youwantmeto. I mean, you might want me to live with you, but it isn’t—it’s only—” He thunks his head back against the seat and groans. “I hate this part. I always have. The constant lying, every action blanketed in a dozen layers of half-truths. Nothing’sreal.”
“Bel. Look at me.”
He does, reluctantly.
