Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle #3) - Jocelynn Drake Page 0,27

It’s frustrating.”

“Let’s see if I can help you with that while I check out this cut on your knee. Gonna remove the bandage—”

Pain flashed across Grey’s knee and he cried out. “Fuck!”

“Sorry about that. I thought it would be better if I did it fast rather than slow.”

“Leg hair,” Grey whined. He’d thrown on basketball shorts that morning when he finally crawled out of bed, knowing he’d have to deal with the cut again.

“Yeah, not anymore. But then it looks like you were due for a wax.”

“Fuck you,” Grey said, but it lacked all of the heat that had been behind those two words earlier.

“But you were asking for a description of me. Let’s see,” Cort said. He was trying to distract Grey, and he welcomed it. He wanted to think of something else for just a little while. “I’m a couple of inches taller than you.”

“But shorter than Lucien, right?”

“Yep. Probably right between you both. You have a good image of him in your head?”

Grey tilted his head to the left and then right, his mouth twisting a little. “Pretty good. I haven’t known him as long as the others. Maybe only a few weeks, but yeah, I can see him.”

“Really?” Surprise lifted Cort’s voice higher. “I would never have guessed that. When I’ve seen him with you and the others, he seems so relaxed, like he’s been around much longer.”

Grey shook his head. It was better to leave it at that. Trying to explain why Lucien only recently joined them and why he was living at the house in the first place was a can of worms Grey didn’t have the energy to open. “So…taller than me and shorter than Lucien.”

“I think Lucien’s muscle mass is bigger than mine as well, so he’s wider.” Something cool ran over the wound, and Grey hissed. It didn’t hurt. Just…cold. There was a soft fizzing noise that went with it. Peroxide. He was cleaning the wound. “Umm…so, I’m also Black.”

There was a long, heavy silence as if Cort were waiting for a negative reaction.

“Yeah, Lucien might have mentioned that last night. It’s not an issue for me; did you think it would be?”

Cort reached out and squeezed Grey’s fingers, offering a shaky little laugh. “You never know. That information doesn’t always go over so great. Too many people are skeptical that I’ve got my degrees and shit.”

“Fucking racist assholes. I can’t pretend to understand what you’ve gone through, and I might not always say the right thing, but you can tell me if I fuck up.”

“Thanks.” Cort made a noise, and Grey imagined him shrugging. “Most of the time it doesn’t come up. Kind of nice. Since they’re blind, we don’t spend a lot of time talking about my appearance. But ummm…”

“Are you bald like Lucien?”

“Nope. I keep it short in a fade.”

“Must make mornings easy.”

Cort chuckled. “Anything that makes mornings easy is a very good thing. When you see me, I’ve already had two cups of coffee.”

“Thank God. I didn’t want to think you woke up chipper each day.” Cort released his hand. “What’s your expression now? Are you frowning?”

“Not frowning so much as this is my worried face.”

“Is that usually the expression you have around me? Your voice usually doesn’t sound worried.”

“How does it sound?”

“Sarcastic. Teasing. Laughing. You laugh easily. It’s nice.”

Wrappers crinkled for a moment, and something soft was taped over the wound on his knee. “Most of the time I am happy. You’re a funny guy and you live with some funny friends. Being here doesn’t feel like work. Just hanging out with some friends. You make me smile.”

But Grey answered with a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got pieces floating around in my head now, but I can’t pull them all together for a single image.”

“For some people it works. For some, it doesn’t. Can you see a smile in your mind?”

“Yeah.”

“Then concentrate on that.”

Grey hummed. “So, tall, short hair, great smile. How old?”

“Thirty-three. As I told you, I got my bachelor’s degree in occupational therapy and psychology. My master’s is in vision rehabilitation therapy. I’m originally from South Carolina, where I grew up with my mother and sister. I moved to Savannah just over a year ago.” Cort gently took Grey’s left hand and turned it so it was resting palm-side up on the table. There was a soft glug of water in a container, and then something soft and damp was rubbed across his palm. More peroxide on scrapes, maybe. “Any other questions for me?” he asked,