I feel Killian’s presence an extra beat, though my back is to him, then he walks back to the couch and finally, I exhale.
***
I’m moving toward the table twenty minutes later with the dishes for the meal and his eyes are on me from his spot on my red couch. His ankles are crossed while he reclines, looking casual in his Timberland Oxford boots, faded distressed jeans, a black button-down shirt with green pinstripes. He’s as tall as Ray, though I’d wager he’s in better shape. Ray always took care of his body, but in the past year he’s stopped working out and he drinks a lot of beer and some of it seems to be lingering, hanging onto his middle.
Though Killian’s clothes are casual, they fit him like they were tailor-made, and I see no signs of any sort of beer gut.
My eyes take in his mouth and his full lower lip. They then traverse the length of him before it hits me that I’m blatantly checking him out.
“Need help?” Killian offers and I try not to meet his gaze as I say, “That’s okay, thanks.”
And then I find myself in another eye-lock with him and his eyes have a twinkle in them. Damn. He saw.
My gaze shoots to Ray before landing on the table. Ray is oblivious, his eyes on the TV as he orders a $69.95 event. God, it’s twenty bucks more than the last time. Like I need that expense.
Ray hasn’t brought home a paycheck in a month, says he got laid off early this season. We’re into Fall and last year he wasn’t laid off until December, so I suspect he didn’t get laid off, that he got fired.
Heat prickles in my body and I hurry away as Ray’s phone rings. He moves to the window and answers, looking out the drapes.
Killian gets to his feet and erases the distance between us before he grabs my hand and squeezes. “Let me help. It smells delicious.” He puts his lips to my cheek. “Really delicious.”
He moves to the table and as he breezes by me, making my knees go weak. What smells delicious? The food or me? I could swear he inhaled again while his nose was against me.
And that he put his lips on me right in front of Ray? That feels weird.
My face tingles where his lips touched and I’m about to touch the spot when I see Ray looking at me in the reflection of the window. I don’t even try to decipher the look on his face.
“Right back, guys,” Ray announces and heads out of the apartment with his phone still to his ear. I have no idea what that’s about.
“Bring it over?” Killian asks.
I nod, rasping out a scratchy “sure” and watch him carry the wok over to the table and set it on a trivet in the middle. I’ve already set the table with chopsticks for me, a fork for Ray, and I’d set out both options at Killian’s place setting.
While I’m at the sink, washing up some dirty dishes, I see Killian looking around, taking in the space. My apartment is small, but it’s my personality. I’ve got some older furniture I’ve upcycled with paint or other embellishments. I have lots of color in the room, and I’m a tidy person. Ray isn’t, so I typically come in from work to a mess and wind up picking up after him before I start dinner. I wonder what Killian thinks of the space. Ray says he’s wealthy. He probably thinks it’s a dump.
Ray is back.
“Not this shit, Vi. Fuckin’ hate this shit,” Ray grumbles, coming over to the table. “We’ll be hungry in an hour. Where’s the steak? Chicken? And tofu? Fuck.”
My mouth drops open as one shoulder rises in the beginning of a shrug. Did he not see what I was cooking when he came in? The wok was on the stove and I was chopping vegetables. It’s obvious to me that his phone call, whatever that was, has set off one of his moods.
“It looks good. Smells awesome. Love stir-fried chicken.” Killian sits and drapes his napkin across his lap. I smile a little. Not a full-on smile, because Ray would take that as me mocking him.
Ray’s phone rings again so he says, “Shit. One sec,” and quickly disappears to the bedroom.
For a guy with almost no friends, his phone sure is busy tonight.
He makes friends easily but never keeps them for long. And I know it’s because he’s a pathological liar who borrows money and doesn’t pay it back, who goes out with friends and accidentally-on-purpose forgets his wallet. Often. People get sick of it.
Killian’s chopsticks light up as he lifts them. He looks at them in surprise.
I lift mine and they do the same, only mine glow blue and his glow red.
He smiles. “Where’d you get these? These are awesome?”
“Online,” I say.
“Very cool.”
Ray comes back to the table looking agitated.
He gestures to the wok with a look of disdain.
“Fuck sakes,” he mutters and lets out a heavy sigh.
“There’s some of that Irish stew leftover in the fridge from last night,” I say.
“Leftovers? You know I don’t eat nuked shit.” Ray rolls his eyes.
Since when? This guy will eat food cold out of the fridge. Or even out of a can.
“This looks delicious, Violet. If the ass-wipe doesn’t wanna eat it, he can order a pizza or heat up his own stew on the stove,” Killian says pointedly. “Tofu and sesame seeds, too. Nice touch.”
Ray’s face goes blank for a second and then he lets out a belated chuckle. “Does smell good, even if there’s no steak. My girl can cook, man. You should taste her steaks.” He jerks his chin up at me. “Vi, serve it up. We’ll just need you to whip up some snacks in an hour, kay, babe?”
Killian shoots him a look that tells him what I’m thinking and stands up, proceeding to serve himself. “It’s in the middle of the table, asshole. We can serve ourselves. This goddess is in a business suit. She work all day?”
Ray says nothing, but his eyes flare with what I know is masked anger.
Killian takes this all in as he continues. “She worked all day while you played the ponies? You shoulda been home makin’ her a meal,” Killian continues to fill the dish with food.
“My goddess likes taking care of me,” Ray defends. “Don’t be jealous, man.” Ray laughs.
Killian rolls his eyes as he switches bowls with me, serving me the food he’d just taken and then reaches again into the wok to serve himself. He sits. Ray glares at me before he rises and spoons food into his own bowl.
“Fuckin’ hate these,” Ray grumbles not two seconds after sitting, forking snow peas and water chestnuts out of his bowl, and dropping them on the tablecloth – the fresh tablecloth I had just put on the table.
Could have had left it in his dish? Or maybe used his napkin? I want to growl, but I know better.
“You know this, Vi.”
“Oh, I forgot,” I say.
In reality, I didn’t expect him here. I figured by the time he got home, he’d have eaten or would eat the rest of the stew in the fridge, or cold ravioli out of a can before he staggered to bed.
“Forgot,” he mumbles under his breath. “Fuckin’ makes salad for dinner sometimes. Or eggs in a pie. Who wants that for dinner? You put these things in here to piss me off?”
“This is great, Violet,” Killian says enthusiastically. “And I like quiche.”
“Thank you,” I say softly. “And it was a dinner salad. It had lots of stuff in it. I didn’t think you’d be here tonight, or I wouldn’t have put in the things you don’t like, Ray.”