The Fighter (Book 1)

Chapter 12

When we got back to my room, Zack seemed exhausted. Except he was a demon, so he couldn’t be. I came to the conclusion that he was as addicted to and drunk off of me as I was of him. My head was fuzzy, and I wondered if Carmen got drunk so often to feel like this since Michael was gone. Then I realized I didn’t care.

I flopped down on my bed, stretching my arms above my head and trying to pop my back.

Zack crawled over me, resting his head in the crook of my neck, “Are you going to bed?”

“Probably. You wear me out, Wells,” I ran a hand through his still-damp hair. He melted into my skin. “I wanna say it.”

“I know you do.”

“I can’t say it.”

“I know you can’t.”

“You aren’t allowed to say it.”

“Yes, I know,” he chuckled, touching his mouth to any piece of my skin he could get close enough to. “I want to say it, too.”

He pulled back, looking up at me with eyes that could beg better than a puppy in search of human food. “I’m gonna start kissing you if you don’t let me say it.”

I frowned, “Is that your idea of a threat?”

“Yes, yes it is. You’re tired. Very tired. If I start kissing you, you’ll let it slip. Maybe before I do.”

I shook my head, letting my eyes fall shut, “I’m too tired to argue with you. Just know that I’m right.”

“Oh, are you?”

I cracked one eye open, frowning at my demon. “Of course I am.”

“Shall we put money on that?”

“Not before I fall asleep, no,” I tugged on his wing, silently begging him to move up so I could lay my head on his chest. “What’ll you do when I’m asleep?”

“Read.”

“In the dark?” I asked quietly, feeling guilty about needing the lights off. I couldn’t sleep otherwise, or at least it would take twice as long as it already did. I struggled to get to sleep, thoughts flooding my brain.

“Night-vision,” Zack shrugged his shoulders, leaving me to lie on his back and pulling me on top of him.

“You have night-vision?”

“Depending on my eye color, yes.”

“Black?”

“Yep.”

“Red?”

“Somewhat.”

“Blue?”

“Nope,” he ran a hand through my wet hair, the other one trailing slowly down my back. Sliding his hand into the pocket of my shorts, he asked, “Are you really gonna sleep in your clothes?”

“Too tired to change,” I nuzzled up into his chest. “Are you really gonna sleep with a shirt on?”

“Touché,” he sat up, forcing me with him. I groaned, nearly falling backward. “There you go, sleepy-pants.”

“These aren’t my sleepy-pants,” I slurred. “These are my whore-shorts.”

“Why do you say that?” Zack asked after a startling fit of laughter. “Because they’re short?” I nodded, the movement growing sloppier by the second. “Baby, you look fantastic in them.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled when he pulled his arms tightly around me, fingers touching my skin any chance they could get.

“Treble Williams,” I could hear the smile on his lips.