Take It On The Run

Chapter 9

POV: Sloan

After Deacon and I returned to the house, Avery showed me to my new room on the third floor. The space was massive, with high vaulted ceilings and ancient-looking hardwood floors. My meager belongings looked even more pathetic here.

Someone had already taken the liberty of making up the king-size bed for me, I noticed. I turned away from Avery, swallowing the fresh wave of tears pricking my eyes. I couldn't remember the last time someone had cared for me like this. I was so used to doing everything alone, to being fiercely independent to a painful degree—to the point where I was scared to let myself enjoy it.

"How old is this place?" I asked Avery, attempting to distract myself from my tumultuous thoughts. I was also genuinely curious about the history of the mansion they'd chosen to occupy. Being an English nerd, I knew he'd have the answers.

Avery didn't disappoint as he beamed at me and replied, "Over 200 years old."

I did a double-take. "Sweet Lord, that's old." I don't think I ever would've guessed that. I looked around the space again trying to picture all the people who'd occupied this room before me. "Are there...ghosts?"

Avery chuckled, flipping his onyx bangs away from his angular face. He was still wearing his teaching clothes—a tweed blazer, a solid eggshell button down, and a pair of navy slacks. It was obvious that all the guys hit the gym everyday, even the nerdiest of the bunch. He looked like a male model posing as a professor.

"Reed, Sumner, and Deacon don't believe in that sort of thing."

"But you do," I concluded.

"I'm a writer. Of course, I believe." He walked over to me, pulling me onto the bed, and I let him, relaxing against his chest as he tucked me into his side. The heat and hardness of his body felt decadent. "What about you, Sloan? What do you believe?"

"I believe...there are things in this world that can't be explained away by science or logic," I answered honestly. How I missed these talks with him. When we were younger, we'd spend hours chatting online or over the phone about UFOs and the supernatural. I'd been followed once by a circular aircraft on the outskirts of Houston, and he'd been the first person I thought of. "This place has an energy about it. I don't know how else to explain it," I admitted.

"New Orleans has a rich history, some of it grim, as I'm sure you know." He stroked my hair. "Many have lived here over the last two centuries, and there's certainly been a fair amount of violence in that time. That's probably what you're feeling."

As disturbing as Avery's statement was, I was glad he hadn't lied to me or tried to sugar coat it. I hadn't been in this city long, but some of the places I'd moved through thus far carried a heaviness to them, almost like a lingering pain or restlessness.

He looked down at me, his midnight gaze now searing. "Not to be too forward, but would you want to take a shower with me? No pressure. But I'd regret not asking."

I bit my lower lip, which was still swollen from Deacon's kisses. My desire from earlier hadn't dissipated, and I wasn't sure if I should feel guilty or not. I knew I was attracted to all four of them, but I didn't think it was fair or even ethical to carry on sexual relationships with them unless I was transparent.

"Deacon and I made out when we were at my house," I blurted before I could chicken out. I was afraid of how he might react, of being rejected, but it was the right thing to do. He had a right to know that another man had been all over me less than an hour ago and that I'd wanted it.

Avery appeared unfazed by that news. "And?" He was looking at me like he'd completely expected Deacon to ravish me. I wondered if the others shared that expectation.