Page 101 of Kill Feed

Dante

Ender’s ears twitch beneath my hand as the bathroom door clicks open, lifting her head. Then she’s up in an instant, claws tapping softly against the wooden floor as she trots toward Adrian with all the enthusiasm of a soldier greeting her favorite commander.

I lean deeper into the couch, one arm stretched over the backrest, and watch him step out through the steam.

Well Fuck.

My clothes sit differently on him than they do on me. The black hoodie sits loose around his frame with the sleeves pushed up slightly, exposing the sharp lines of his wrists, while the grey sweatpants ride low enough on his hips to make my mind go somewhere deeply inappropriate—as if my performance for Adrian hasn’t happened only an hour ago.

His damp hair curls slightly at the ends, and his skin still holds heat from the shower, faint pink dusting across his cheekbones and over the old scar on his neck along with the new one I gave him.

Ender nudges her nose against his hand, and he returns a subtle grin, scratching behind her ear. The view of his mouth curling sets me almost in a daze. I’ve never seen him smile this much, and that says something.

Adrian continues to scratch behind Ender’s ears, then pats her head as she leans against his leg before finally moving toward the couch and dropping down beside me. The movement pulls the hoodie tighter across his chest.

I stare, and he notices after about three seconds and turns his head toward me slowly. “What?”

“You look cute in my clothes.”

His expression flattens instantly. “Shut up.” Adrian rolls his eyes and sinks lower into the couch, though I catch the way his mouth twitches before he kills the reaction.

Ender hops back onto the couch between us with a satisfied grunt, dropping her heavy head onto Adrian’s thigh instead of mine. He glances toward the city lights beyond the windows before asking flatly, “So are you going to tell me where you disappeared to?”

I tilt my head back against the couch. “I already told you, baby.” My eyes catch on the cut on his hand when he reaches down to pet Ender again.

It’s not infected, but clearly irritated. The skin around the wound still carries a dull redness, and the edges haven’t sealed properly. Tiny stress fractures split through the healing tissue every time he flexes his fingers- probably from gripping handlebars, camera equipment, and God knows what else instead of letting the damn thing rest.

I frown.

“What’s that look for?” Adrian asks flatly.

I grab his wrist before he can pull his hand away, turning it slightly toward the light spilling from the kitchen. “This looks terrible.”

“It’s healing.”

“Barely fucking so.”

His jaw tightens. “I’ve been taking care of it.”

“Baby, if this is you taking care of something, I’d hate to see you neglect it.”

He rolls his eyes, and that alone tells me I’m right.

I push off the couch and head toward the kitchen cabinets and pull out the first aid kit before returning to the living room.

Adrian looks down at it, then at me. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” I sit on the carpet with my back against the couch and tap the floor beside me. “Get down here.”

“I can do it myself.”

“You clearly can’t.”

A slow glare burns into the side of my head. Regardless, he slides off the couch and settles beside me on the carpet with the kind of annoyed silence that usually comes right before he threatens murder.

I open the kit anyway.

A grin pulls at my mouth as I wet a gauze pad with saline and start cleaning the wound properly.