How Sinners Fight - Eva Ashwood Page 0,18

static again.

Or, hell, maybe my mind just invented all of that stuff. I should ask him what happened when he picked me up and see if I’m anywhere close to the truth. He can tell me if it’s just a false memory I’ve made up in my desperation to fill in the blanks, or if my memory might actually be coming back.

And if that memory is accurate, maybe more will follow it. Maybe it’ll all come back.

The thought makes excitement bloom in my chest, but I quickly push it down. I’m not one to get my hopes up with stupid thoughts like that. I believe in reality, not in hopeful what ifs and maybes.

The smooth floor is cool on my bare feet as I head down the stairs, my stomach grumbling.

It took me a couple days of wandering around and getting lost to figure out the layout of Gray’s house, but I think I’m starting to get the hang of it. Mainly, I stick to three main rooms and the paths between them—my room to the kitchen, my room to the family room, and my room to the bathroom. The house is massive, and I haven’t even been in half of it.

I’m not even sure where Gray’s room is, I think, stepping into the kitchen.

Since I arrived here—five days ago now—I’ve spent plenty of time with him. But beyond our kiss that first day, he hasn’t really touched me.

Not quite how I imagined we’d be spending our week together, that’s for fucking sure.

I get the feeling that Gray is holding back.

Not holding back because he doesn’t trust me… but because he doesn’t trust himself with me. Like he’s afraid he’ll break me if he touches me.

Fuck. He of all people should know I don’t break that easily.

And living in the same house as him, knowing he’s under the same roof as me, just down the hallway? It’s driving me crazy, lighting my whole body up with need. A fall down the stairs and a few days in the hospital haven’t taken away the memories of every second Gray and I have spent connected, both mind and body.

But especially body.

My toes curl a little as I try to shove away images of all the places his mouth has touched my skin, the tips of his fingers, his body—but those images are forever seared into my mind, a visceral feeling that follows me in my dreams, my thoughts.

Reaching up into the cupboard above the fruit basket, I grab a coffee mug for myself, then one of the fancy as shit K-Cups that are surprisingly delicious. Popping it in the machine, I wait for my coffee to brew, watching the steam rise up from the mug as the kitchen fills with an enticing coffee scent. Gray’s family also has an espresso machine, but that looks super expensive and confusing. I saw Gray use it once, but I’m not sure I trust myself not to break it.

Once my coffee finishes brewing, I grab the mug and settle into one of the barstools, taking a cautious sip of the steaming liquid.

There’s a quiet noise behind me, and I turn around as Gray walks into the kitchen.

I try not to stare, I really fucking do. But he’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that seem to be a cue for my hormones to pick up, no matter how much I want to resist. They hang on his hips just right, and the white t-shirt he wears frames his arms perfectly.

I put the mug back up to my lips and take another sip, turning around before he can see the grin that’s creeping across my face. To my surprise though, instead of heading to the machine to brew his own morning coffee like he usually does, he pulls out the barstool next to me and sits down, his knee brushing against my thigh.

“Good morning, Sparrow,” he says quietly. I glance over at him, unable to help myself. When he has my attention, he holds out a small black box with a little bow tied around it, and my heart does a sudden thud-thud in my chest. “I got something for you.”

My gaze jumps from the box to him, then back to the box. I’m not sure what to do. I want to take it from him, but I can’t.

“What?” I ask, clenching the coffee mug in my hands a little tighter, like I might drop it if I’m not careful.

“Take it.” A small smile tilts his lips.