Chapter Seventeen

Don't Call Me That (Except Please Do)

Rafe

This day was turning out so fucking weird.

After putting the toner in my hair, he casually suggested that we watch a movie.

Me and Ewen. Together. Just watching a movie. Together. In my house.

He paused it when I went to wash the toner out, and when I got back downstairs, he was waiting in the kitchen with a bright smile and the bottle of pink hair dye in his hands. His gloved hands.

I was coming to the humiliating realisation that I had a thing for seeing him in black latex gloves, and I had no idea why.

Probably just the universe deciding I hadn't quite reached my peak of being a sad, horny loser for my hot wrestler neighbour.

"Were you really a hair stylist before?" I asked a while later as I sat perfectly still, trying to ignore the way my scalp tingled with pleasure as he brushed the dye on. "Or were you bullshitting me?"

He chuckled, and I suppressed a shiver when I felt his breath against the nape of my neck. "Wasn't bullshitting you, kitten."

"Don't call me that," I said automatically, blushing when I heard him huff in amusement. Fiddling with a crease in my pyjama pants, I asked, "So how did you end up at Goliaths?"

All of this was just so fucking weird. Conversing with him politely, without any of the snarkiness. Us eating together. Him dyeing my hair.

I didn't know how I'd ended up in this position. I could barely remember my conversation with Neville, let alone waking up still slightly drunk this morning.

"I was working in a salon when I first moved here about four years ago, but I was already really into working out and strength training," Ewen told me. "Used to go to the orc-run gym in town, and I guess Holt has connections there, because he must've heard about the dullahan working out there most mornings. You know us dullahans are pretty rare. So he showed up one day to offer me a job."

My mouth twitched. "Really?"

"Yep. Swept into the gym one morning in a suit, sunglasses and that big pink coat, walked right up to me while I was using the chest press and asked if I'd ever considered a career in professional wrestling." He chuckled. "When he heard my accent, he said, ‘Jesus fucking Christ, you're perfect .'"

I huffed in amusement but didn't answer, chewing on my lower lip, because… yeah. Holt wasn't wrong about the accent. That deep southern drawl.

It was fucking annoying how hot he was. And how I now couldn't stop noticing.

"So I thought, fuck it, why not?" Ewen continued. "And it worked out pretty damn good."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Hell yes. I fucking love it. Plus it meant I could eventually stop renting my crappy apartment and buy my own place." I heard the grin in his voice as he added, "Next door to you ."

I huffed and rolled my eyes, then found myself—ugh—actually making conversation back. "This place was my grandma's. When she died, she left it to my dad, but my parents were already planning on moving to Florida, so they let me live here."

"Nice. You close with your parents?" He hesitated before adding, "Just don't think I've ever seen 'em come over."

"Nah. I went to stay with them a couple Christmases ago, but…" I shrugged. "We're not all that close. Just not an overly loving family, I guess."

He paused to squeeze my shoulder, which made me tense up even as my belly dipped.

Ewen was being… nice. It was freaking me out.

"Not even your granny?"

"Nah," I repeated. "She wasn't the loveable, cookie-making type of grandma. I don't know if it's a ghoul thing or whatever," I added with a shrug, pulling my knees up to my chest. "We tend to, uh, like… form our own packs, I guess? Rather than just stay in family units."

"Fair enough," he said easily, then sat back. "Dye's all on. Hope you're not too attached to this T-shirt."

"Um, nah, it's just an old one." I awkwardly twisted around on the towel so I wasn't just sitting with my back to him. "Uh… thanks."

He grinned at me, setting down the mixing bowl and brush to peel a dye-streaked glove off at the wrist with his teeth. My belly tightened. Then—fuck—my dick twitched.

"My pleasure, handsome." His grin widened when I huffed and glared at him, before his eyes flickered down to my mouth. "So. You remember anything from last night yet?"

My gut plummeted with dread. I scrambled to my feet and strode toward the sink just to get away. "No."

"Mm." He slowly rose, holding the dye supplies. "Shame."

My shoulders hunched up to my ears as I needlessly washed my hands, and my voice was hoarse when I said, "Well, thanks for the help."

I heard him chuckle as he approached. "That sounds like you're tryin' to get rid of me."

I mean, I was. I didn't fucking understand why he was here, dyeing my damn hair for me. Why wasn't he just bringing up what I'd done so he could tease me about it? Why was he drawing it out like this?

Because sooner or later, he was going to make a joke about it. About me admitting to masturbating over him and trying to kiss him. It was Ewen. Of course he was. He went out of his way to piss me off. Usually, anyway. Today he was being nice, and it was just making me even more tense and suspicious.

"I just… figured you have things to do," I said weakly, then jumped when he appeared by my side. He stood way too close as he placed the brush and mixing bowl in the sink. My arm brushed his bare stomach, and my pulse leaped at the feel of hot, smooth skin.

"Nope. Not going into work today." He grinned down at me and gestured at my hair. "And I need to stick around to see the finished result, don't I?"

—

Still so weird.

We carried on watching the movie while the dye sat in my hair. I still wasn't even aware of what movie he'd picked—I just sat there staring at the moving images without taking anything in.

He'd been here hours now, and I was so tense it felt like I was going to snap in half.

When I eventually went upstairs to wash out the dye, I stayed in my room for a while, blow-drying my hair because I wanted to see what the final colour looked like. How good of a job he'd done.

And damn it, he'd done great. I stared in the mirror at myself, taking in the perfect, uniform dye job. Usually when I did it myself, I ended up with streaks on the back of my head.

It was getting dark when I hesitantly went back downstairs, and as I stepped into the living room, I saw that Ewen had turned on a couple of lamps. My belly clenched at the sight of him sitting there in the low lighting, looking all relaxed and at ease on my couch.

He looked back as I hovered uncertainly in the doorway, and my gut tightened even more when he grinned at me.

"Looks good, kitten. You look real pretty."

I scowled in reflex, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. I hated people pointing out my appearance. It just made me wildly self-conscious. Maybe that was a little contrarian seeing as I had facial piercings and tattoos and dyed my hair bright colours, but I didn't do that for other people.

Besides, Ewen wasn't saying it to be nice—he was just teasing me like he always did. Trying to rile me up, because he found it funny.

"Thanks for your help," I said stiltedly, expecting him to finally, finally get up and say he'd better be going.

Instead, he gestured at our glasses on the coffee table. "Got us some more water. And found this real bad-lookin' zombie western movie I thought we could watch after we finish this one."

I stared at him in disbelief as he turned back to face the TV.

Seriously, what the fuck was happening? Why was he here?

Why wasn't he leaving?

I knew, rationally, that I could just tell him to go and he likely would. I could say I was going to bed early because I still felt hungover. I could say I had plans. Technically, I had had plans. Plans I'd cancelled because I hadn't wanted to socialise tonight.

But I didn't. I didn't say any of that. I didn't tell him to leave.

I just walked slowly over to the couch and sat back down.

"You cold?" Ewen asked when I pulled my legs up to my chest and hunched in on myself. He lifted his ass to pull the blanket out from under him then offered it to me.

Still so fucking confused, I slowly took it and draped it half-heartedly over my knees. Then I stiffened up completely when Ewen shuffled closer so he could cover his lap too.

Not close enough for us to be touching, but closer. I could feel the warmth radiating from him. Could smell whatever cologne he wore.

My cock twitched, making my skin grow hot with humiliation. For fuck's sake, why hadn't I put boxers on under my pyjama pants when I went back upstairs? I pulled my legs tighter to my chest and stared with unseeing eyes at the TV when he hit play.

There was only around half an hour left of the movie, and we watched it in complete silence.

I didn't understand why he was still here. This wasn't exactly fun . It was like we were the only two people in a movie theatre—total strangers who happened to have sat right next to each other.

When the credits started rolling, Ewen stretched and leaned forward to grab our glasses off the coffee table. He handed me mine, and I flinched when his arm brushed against my skin as he sat back.

I took a tiny sip as he gulped down half his glass, and I tensed up even more when I sensed him glancing over at me.

Then he finally spoke. And said the words I'd been dreading all day.

"Rafe…" Ewen looked down at his glass, running his thumb through the condensation. "I know you remember what happened last night."

Panic streaked through me, making my vision briefly white out. I hurriedly started gulping down water and mumbled, "Nuh-uh," into my glass like a child.

He chuckled. I could sense him watching me again, and my pulse started hammering when he shifted around slightly to face me better.

"Look, when you tried to—"

"I should go to bed," I blurted, shoving the blanket off and leaning forward to thump my glass down onto the coffee table. I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. "Still feeling kinda rough."

He huffed in amusement. "So are we never gonna talk about it?"

Talk about me drunkenly admitting I'd been watching him suck himself off and getting off to it myself, then trying to kiss him and him having to reject me?

Uh, no. Fuck no. We were never, ever going to talk about it.

"I'd really rather not," I said stiffly, standing up and shoving back my hair. I was too tense and embarrassed to even appreciate how soft and silky it felt, all freshly dyed.

Ewen rose from the couch too. "Why not?"

I turned off the lamp beside the couch, knowing I was being a rude asshole. But I couldn't. I couldn't fucking talk about it. I was too humiliated.

Ewen laughed when I ignored the question. "Aw, come on, handsome."

"Don't call me that," I gritted out. His teasing felt even shittier now, because it seemed more personal. He knew I was attracted to him. I'd tried to fucking kiss him. Calling me handsome was just his way of making me feel stupid.

"You really suck at taking compliments, huh?"

My headache was returning as blood rushed to my face. When I turned off the other lamp, plunging us into darkness, I heard Dan laugh.

"Damn, Rafe. Didn't your momma ever teach you about southern hospitality?"

"We're not from the south, so no." I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face, aware I was being a dick. "Look, thanks for… the food and helping out with the hair dye, but I do still feel like shit. And I have work tomorrow. So…"

After a long, agonising pause, he chuckled. "Sure. Okay."

Shoulders sagging in relief, I headed for the hallway to show him out. I could hear him approaching slowly, and I felt a little bad for turning off the lights. As a ghoul, I could see perfectly well in the dark, but I didn't know if the same was true for Ewen.

God, I really was an asshole.

"Can I just say one thing, at least?" he asked.

For some reason, I stopped. I had no idea why—I was so clenched up and tense and embarrassed that my shoulders were practically touching my ears—but I stopped and waited.

My breath caught when a warm hand lightly touched my arm, just long enough to encourage me to turn and face him. I stared up at Ewen, unnerved and terrified and weirdly excited by how close he was. How much bigger he was than me.

"I just wanted to say…" He gave me a tiny crooked grin that made my pulse leap, then lifted an arm and rested it on the doorframe beside me. Suddenly, his huge bicep was right there, just inches from my face. I could see the tuft of hair in his armpit. I could smell his skin and a hint of clean sweat. My nuts tightened in response.

"If you hadn't been drunk last night, I wouldn't have stopped you," he said, his voice sounding even deeper and huskier in the dark. "I would've kissed you."

My heart started pounding harder as my face heated. My lips parted as I stared up at him, but I couldn't think of anything to say. My brain had gone blank.

His grin widened just a little, his gaze dropping to my mouth and growing heavier. "I would've kissed the fuck out of you. Probably brought you home and done more, if you were up for it."

Like what? What more? my brain screamed, desperate for the answers, desperate to hear him tell me. But I was frozen, my pulse rabbiting in my throat, my breaths leaving me in shallow pants.

He'd moved a touch closer, and now I could feel the heat of him against my front through my thin T-shirt. He wet his lips, drawing my gaze down to his mouth, and my belly clenched with breathless anticipation.

"So I'm just saying…" His wide, muscled shoulders rose in a tiny shrug as his smile grew just a little. "You're not drunk now. And I'm right here."