King of hollywood, p.14
King of Hollywood, page 14
“That’s it,” he urged, his words fluttering between our lips. His voice vibrating my palm where it still encased his throat. “Relax for me, Marshall.”
I relaxed.
As if it had been that easy all along. As if all I’d needed was Felix’s gentle command to do so. Something settled inside me then. A screw that had been knocked loose so long ago I’d forgotten it had happened at all.
With a sigh, I pressed harder against him, holding his throat captive with my palm as my fingers gently pinched. Greedier, rougher, our lips slid together. Over and over, a mating dance that caused shivers to run up and down my spine.
His mouth was cool and slick. The longer we kissed, the warmer it became, almost like he was stealing my heat again. Like we were sharing it between us. And that thought—that something I exuded could become one with him was just…
“Fuck,” I hissed out, pulling away, panting.
My chest was heaving and I couldn’t seem to get it to stop.
“Not today,” Felix countered, voice low, as rough as my own. His eyes were dark. The pupil had swallowed them whole. “But…”
“But…?” My pulse skittered. I squeezed his neck tighter, watching his lashes flutter as a needy little moan left his lips. He melted, like butter in my grip. The tighter I squeezed, the more docile he became.
“Soon,” he croaked, lashes fluttering.
Soon was now my favorite word.
Felix and I danced. We danced for hours. Well past my bedtime. The stars flickered outside his living room windows, the lamplight from the street casting an orange, homey glaze around his living room as I led him through steps I’d memorized years ago. Back and forth, swirling, dipping, gliding.
The way my mother had taught me back when I’d been young and anxious and needed a guiding hand.
We went through Felix’s entire record collection. Through the old rock music he favored, through the symphonies, through Sinatra.
The cats watched us curiously, like they didn’t know what to make of what we were doing. They attempted to trip me once—the bastards—but for the most part, left us alone.
And by the time I went home—dear God, who was I? Staying up this late!—I’d been touching Felix for so long his body was warm. He’d looked dazed as I paused on my way out his front door, twisting to say goodbye.
There’d been a single, awkward moment when I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to kiss him again. But he quickly remedied it. Hopping onto his tiptoes, Felix pulled me down by a gentle fistful of my vest and answered my unspoken question by kissing me soundly.
“Goodnight, Marshall,” he said, eyes alight.
“Goodnight, Felix.”
If he noticed it was the first time I’d used his first name, he didn’t say.
I didn’t either.
Some things didn’t need to be said out loud.
Chapter thirteen
Ihad the most brilliant idea the day after our second date. I’d always been a bit…obsessive. Call it what you will—but it was part of who I was. After visiting Felix’s home, it was like a dam had broken and I …couldn’t seem to turn it off.
I could not stop thinking about him.
All day.
When I was writing spreadsheets, I thought of him. When I was warding off Harold’s well-meaning lunch invites, I thought of him. When I drove home—and passed a cop car—I thought of him.
My head was in the clouds. But it wasn’t until I received an unexpected visitor that I knew what to do with my newfound obsession.
It was after dark. I’d been meal prepping for the next week at work, and the doorbell rang. Immediately, my hackles raised. The only person who visited me this late was Barry (the bore). I’d already received the note on my door inviting me to his annual Summer Bash at the end of August, and I worried—like with the fair—he would try to rope me into doing something to help him.
I’d rather eat my own leg.
If he asked me to bring coleslaw I was going to scream.
It was different if I brought something on my own. That only meant that I’d decided to be generous that day. Or that I’d had extra time on my hands. If Barry asked me to bring something it became an obligation and I hated those. So much.
Teeth gritted, my brow lowered into my most intimidating scowl, I made sure my apron was tied before wiping my hands off on it and heading to the front door. When I yanked it open, I was prepared to yell.
That became unnecessary the moment I saw who my guest actually was.
“Felix,” I perked up, my scowl melting away, despite how hard I tried to keep it in place. I couldn’t have him realizing how giddy he made me, could I? That would give him too much power over me.
“Hi, Marshall.” Felix smiled at me. “I like your apron. You look…very domestic.”
“Domestic?” I frowned down at my apron, unsure if that was a good thing. It was frilly. Winnie had given it to me as a gag gift one year, but I liked it, so I often wore it when I was cooking. I hadn’t brought it to Felix’s house the night before. But that was because we weren’t apron-level-lovers yet. At least…we hadn’t been, until the end of the night.
Now we’d gotten to first base.
So I supposed it was alright if he saw my frills.
“Yes,” Felix nodded, biting his lip, his sharp little incisors flashing. “Domestic.”
It felt like a compliment, so I let it be one.
“You look…” I scanned him, head to toe, my own cheeks flushing as I tried to come up with a compliment of my own. “Soft.”
Felix’s smile widened. “Soft?”
“Cuddly,” I added, clearing my throat, my entire face hot. “Like a baby horse.” We’d had a few throughout my childhood and their fur always looked like that. Fuzzy. Downy. Sweet.
“Thank you.” Felix’s shoulders looked particularly delicious today. His sweater was pale pink, a perfect complement to the baby blue I was sporting. It clung to his frame, highlighting every curve, the collar dipping low enough I could see his collarbones.
The way it swooped reminded me of his pajamas.
Damn. I should’ve paid more attention the one and only time I’d seen them.
What a waste.
I wish I could see them again.
Felix’s hair was curling around his slightly pointed ears, his hat perched on top of his head. There were still dark circles under his eyes, but the sadness that normally lingered was missing. Instead he looked…excited? Huh.
The scent of something buttery and sweet filled my nose, and I cocked my head at him, gaze finally swiveling from his face down to the box he carried.
“Is that…” I blinked, flummoxed. “A pie?”
“Rhubarb!” Felix held it out to me, looking incredibly proud of himself. “I didn’t bake it. I can’t bake—” he laughed, self-conscious. “Or cook. I never learned. Never had to. Always had staff on hand for that. Never had to learn to clean either. Did you know there’s such a thing as pie delivery?” I shook my head dumbly, reaching out to take the pie from him, shell-shocked. “The modern world never ceases to amaze me.”
“It’s full of wonders,” I echoed, only half-listening.
Because pie.
This blind-sided me even more than the murders he’d committed.
Bodies I knew how to handle. Pie? Not so much.
“A friend recommended it to me,” he said—still talking. My eyes narrowed.
“What friend?”
“No one special, caveman,” he snorted out. I eyed the label on the box curiously. I’d always had a sweet tooth. It was something I should’ve tried to curb—especially as I got older—but I’d never seemed to manage.
My three vices.
Murder, sugar, and Felix.
“Special enough they told you about pie delivery,” I wheedled. The box was warm in my grasp.
“Maaarshall.” Felix laughed, an almost guilty twist to his lips.
“Is this another of your secrets?” I cocked my head to the side, the sweet scent of fresh pie filling the air between us. Felix seemed to debate with himself, before he ultimately nodded.
“I feel like you’re lying,” I said, unable to bite my tongue.
“Okay, so maybe calling them my friend is a stretch. Acquaintance is more accurate.” Felix bit his lip. “A fan of my work? A guest.”
“What work?” I had never seen him leave his house. “Are you an artist?” That would explain…a lot actually. Perhaps he had one of those online shops where he sold his wares. His crochet-creations. The memorabilia he collected from the 1950s that littered his house.
“Of a sort,” Felix answered vaguely. “Depending on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you,” I frowned.
“Right.” Felix inhaled sharply, an almost forlorn expression crossing his face. “Then yes…I think what I made was art.” His lips tipped up. “I don’t do it anymore. I can’t.”
“Does that make you sad?”
“Sometimes,” Felix offered me a soft little smile. “It helps that you asked.”
“Oh. Well. Good for me then.”
“Good for me too.” Felix laughed, and it was the prettiest thing I’d heard all day.
I nodded, relaxing. “An acquaintance told you about pie delivery.”
“Yes.” Felix’s face was bright red. “I called him up and asked. Because you mentioned yesterday that you missed it.”
I would’ve rather he never called anyone other than me ever—but I suppose I couldn’t be too angry. Because he’d bought me a pie.
“You called up your acquaintance,” I repeated, trying to parse this together. “And what? Asked if he knew of any places where rhubarb was made?”
“Yes.” Felix’s splotchy flush was lovely. He licked his lips. “Was that…okay?”
He peered at me through his lashes, and I softened, unable to hold onto my ire.
“Of course it was okay. You may buy me pie anytime.”
Felix’s hypothetical tail wagged.
If he was a chihuahua, I was the doberman panting after him. Willing to jump through hoops for him—my doggy brain fully set on breeding him into the ground. He certainly made me want to howl.
It was like he’d reprogrammed the way my brain worked. And I couldn’t even be mad about it—Especially after what we’d shared, and how many times he’d jumped to my rescue.
He was mine, silly pies and all.
And I didn’t want to share him—just like I didn’t want to share my new treat.
I was half-tempted to hunt down every person he’d ever slept with and eliminate the competition entirely.
“Do you like it?” Felix asked, his hands slipping into his pockets as he rocked onto his toes, then back onto his heels. He looked like a needy puppy, all fluffy blond hair, his eyes searching mine.
“I love it,” I said simply, because it was true. I squeezed the box, my heart fluttering. “Would you like to come in?” I cocked my head to the side again, jerking my chin backward. Felix twisted a little, his eyes alight with curiosity as he glanced down the pristine hallway, gaze flickering to the line of Italian loafers on a stand by the door.
Good.
Gaze at my shoes, Felix.
See how well I take care of the leather and know I’ll take care of you too.
“Are you cooking?” he asked, sniffing the air.
I nodded, twisting my body to allow him a view of the archway that led to the kitchen. Almost like it was perfectly timed, the timer above the stove beeped. Quickly, I shut the door on Felix, hurrying down the hallway to deal with the chicken before it burned.
I set his pie down, put my oven mitts on, and bent over.
Chicken saved, I leaned back to admire it, hands on my hips.
It was only then that I realized what I’d done.
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh no, I had not meant to do that—to shut the door on him—oh fuck.
I sprinted back to the front door, yanking it open, mitts still on. Felix was miraculously still there. He blinked at me and my now frazzled expression. Then he laughed. It was a glorious sound, soft and husky.
“You stayed.”
“I’ll let you cook,” he said—in answer to my earlier invitation, the one I’d given him before I’d slammed the door in his face. “I just had something else I wanted to give you. You mentioned that you might want to clean my house, and I know that’s weird but I…”
I hadn’t mentioned so much as I’d demanded that he let me do it. But it was cute of him to soften my words.
“I do want to clean your house,” I blurted. “Very much.” And then, because he deserved an apology, I added, “I am so sorry for shutting the door in your face. And running.” The words tasted like ash on my tongue as I waved my gloved hands at him.
“Don’t be.” Felix grinned even wider. He crossed the distance between us, slipping between my outstretched arms and tipping up onto his tiptoes for a kiss. I leaned down immediately, answering his silent command.
The kiss was chaste and soft.
It tasted like cherry chapstick. The one I’d given him last night before I’d left. He tucked something into my pocket, something small and light. “In case you need it to get in.” Then he kissed me again, and every thought in my head fled.
My stomach filled with butterflies, my socked toes curling against the tile.
When we parted the second time, Felix reached up to gently swipe his thumb over my lip, probably to clean off the leftover chapstick.
“Goodnight, Marshall,” he said, following our usual pattern.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, heart pounding. “Goodnight, Felix.”
He looked pleased that I’d used his name again. It was written all over his face as he stepped back, swiveling gracefully on his heel before hopping down the steps. When he was halfway across my yard, he twisted back around to wave.
I waved back.
But I didn’t stop watching him. Not until he’d crossed through the white picket fence that marked the end of my property. Not until he strode across the street to his own home. Till the door shut behind him, and I saw his shadow move up the stairs.
Later that night, I had my brilliant idea.
My brilliant, amazing, wonderful idea.
Innovative, really.
I’d been checking the camera footage from the security cameras like I did every night when a familiar, floppy-hatted man showed up in the feed. I paused it, zooming in on his face with near manic glee.
Cameras.
Yes.
Cameras!
I could see Felix’s pajamas again if I used this to my advantage, couldn’t I? And I wouldn’t even have to wait until we slept together. I could keep my eye on him. Make sure he was safe. That no one—cough—Barry—cough—would be bothering him throughout the day while he was sleeping. I could make sure his “friends” were treating him with respect. And if they weren’t? I could step in. Yes. Yes. Yes.
I was a genius.
An absolute fucking genius.
I should win an award for this.
I was only forward thinking. Protecting Felix was noble, wasn’t it? Not creepy. I shot down Winnie’s voice in my head—chest puffing up with pride. Never mind the fact that I had rather gleefully taken screenshots of the parts of surveillance video that had Felix in them, and saved them to my phone.
I was Suburban Serial Killer Batman.
Protector of tiny, lonely hermit men.
Not a lovesick stalker who would tattoo Felix’s face on my ass if I wasn’t terrified of needles.
It wasn’t until I was changing into my pajamas that I remembered the second gift Felix had given me. It spilled from my pants pocket onto the floor, and I grinned—evilly—when I saw what it was.
A key.
A key to Felix’s house.
So that I could go over and clean.
Unfortunately, I had to wait until I was off for the weekend to enact my evil plan. Which was, A: clean up the dust and cobwebs in Felix’s home. And B: install the cameras I’d purchased to spy on him.
He’d sleep all day—I already knew that—which meant I had plenty of time.
Cleaning his house, on top of helping him, offered me the perfect alibi.
Bright and early, I headed across the street to Felix’s murder-mansion, feeling like a giddy child as I used the key he’d given to me for the first time.
Dolly and Tiffany hissed at me where they lurked at the base of the stairs, and I waved them off with a positively sunny grin.
“Oh, hush,” I hummed, shutting the door behind me. “I’m helping your father, so behave.”
Never mind the fact that I was spying on him too. But they didn’t need to know that.
I tried to be quiet, despite the fact that Felix had assured me that he was a deep sleeper, because it was only polite.
From six a.m. to noon, I worked my way through the first floor, the kitchen, the dining room, and living room. From noon to five, I scrubbed my way through the second floor—which, to my mounting horror, housed a whole plethora of rooms that were filled to the brim with junk.
The clutter that lined the halls was just the tip of the iceberg, and that only became clearer with each door I opened.
Letters, paintings, posters. Old, dated furniture. Portraits and pictures of people I didn’t recognize in black and white, that I could only assume were Felix’s family. A tarot deck that looked about a thousand years old. Knick-knacks and memorabilia from what looked like the mid 1900s. And in the back room at the end of the hall, I found a very memorable, very large coffin tucked away in a surprisingly dustless corner.
The cats watched me as I worked around it, but I found I didn’t mind the company. At least…when Dolly wasn’t swiping at my head.
“You’ve got a very pretty father,” I informed them as I worked my way through the coffin room. “You’re very lucky. Mine is quite a bit uglier than yours is.”
They both seemed to approve of this statement, and left me alone when I headed into the next room.
I didn’t throw away any of Felix’s things, as that wasn’t my place. But I did clean them up, organizing them as best I could, and freeing them from cobwebs and dust.
