Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
And shiver again. He wasn’t sure what was more horrifying. That creepy painting, or the fact Grayson’s footsteps were coming down the hall.
He pushed a hand against the bed in an effort to quickly rise and his wrist gave way, causing him sink onto an elbow. The precise moment at which Grayson stepped into the room and switched on the light.
Carl squinted against the sudden brightness and blinked in Grayson’s stock-still, open-mouthed gape. It took only a moment to reconstruct the scene from the point of view of those baffled eyes. There Carl was, his shirt undone, revealing a decent slice of chest and stomach, while lounging provocatively on the master bed. He might at any moment curl a finger or tiger-growl at Grayson to come join him.
Grayson plucked up a bottle of pills from the dresser. “Came for these.”
Carl was absolutely beside himself. He was hurriedly buttoning his flannel while glaring heavenward and wagging a mental finger that way. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“What does it look like?”
“Like a crazy person snuck into your room and prostrated himself half-naked in the vain hope of seducing you?”
“So you are aware.”
Carl shoved himself into a sitting position. “What this actually is . . .”
“What actually is it?”
“Me giving you serious judgy-eyes. What on earth is this painting above your—”
Carl looked up and stopped.
In the light, the painting was nothing quite so menacing as it’d seemed under shadow. In fact, it wasn’t a painting at all, but a large photograph. Of a young boy. Dancing on a stage. And he looked like a younger version of the man staring at him with his eyebrow cocked, awaiting a sufficient explanation.
Carl laughed weakly. “That’s you as a kid.”
“Ah, so you came in here to look at my childhood photos.”
“Is there any way I can come out of this room not looking like I’m desperately in love with you?”
“Don’t beat yourself up.” Grayson moved to the bed before him. “You’re allowed to have feelings.” He bent down, a whoosh of air against his jaw, to speak in his ear. “And I’m allowed to not respond to them.”
Carl jerked back. “Feelings? Even if I had feelings, I’d have lost them after one look at your photo in the dark!”
“What’s wrong with my photo?”
“I know you quite fancy yourself, but is it common to put up enlarged pictures of oneself above one’s bed?”
“I like this photo.”
“Of course you do.”
“I’ll never get sick of looking at it.”
“It’s a bit shocking there’s no mirror in this room. On the wall. Above the bed . . .”
“My mother won a photography competition with that picture.”
His mother . . .
God, why did Carl always say the wrong thing? He stuffed a fist against his mouth to stop any more nonsense escaping, cleared his throat, and took in the photo more carefully. “It’s . . . I mean, the form is artistic . . . There’s a special vibe to it, yes.”
Grayson folded his arms.
“I’m a terrible person.” Carl sank off the bed onto his knees before him, almost bashing his head against . . . Grayson quickly shot back a foot. Carl winced. “Forgive me,” he said. “I invaded your privacy and then had the audacity to get judgemental. This picture is meaningful. Of course you should have it above your bed. Of course it’d never scare the bejesus out of you.”
Grayson reached down and helped him to his feet. “I love this picture—”
Carl nodded hard.
“—but it is spooky in the dark.”
“Oh, thank God!” Carl whacked him on the fluffy forearm. “You scare yourself sometimes?”
Grayson gave him a warning look not to overdo it, and Carl zipped his mouth shut. “This was taken during a talent show at intermediate school.”
“Did you get first prize for freaking people—” Grayson doubled-down on his look and Carl grinned. “You danced.”
“Tap. I did it for a few years. Stop smirking.”
“Can you still do it?”
Grayson shrugged, which had Carl sidling towards what looked like a closet door. “You’ve got a pair of silver shoes in here somewhere, don’t you?”
Grayson jumped in front of him, barring the way. “I’m sure you had such moments as a kid too.”
“Of looking like a creepy puppet dancer? Let me think.”
Grayson tapped a sharp knuckle on his forehead and Carl rocked back on his heels, laughing. “Okay, I lost my trunks swimming in a competition once. Are we even?”
“Do you have a photo?”
Carl shook his head.
“We’re not even.”
Snickering, Carl fished out his phone, set it to selfie mode, took a picture of himself making a face and sent it to Grayson. “There. Laugh at me whenever you want.”
Grayson checked the photo and nodded soberly. “Good enough to scare away any prospective partner.” A rattling cough dominated the next half minute and Carl grimaced, took Grayson by the elbow and led him to the bathroom.