Wicked
Page 78

As our shift drew to a close, we ended up back in the Quarter, on Phillip Street, where Ren had stowed his bike. My head was in a thousand different places—the location of the second gate, the possible traitor, what would happen on Wednesday—when Ren asked, "Come home with me."
Standing on the corner of the street, under the faint flickering glow of the streetlamp, I frowned. "What?"
Ren smiled faintly. "Come home with me tonight, Ivy."
I shifted my feet, taking a step back. The request thrilled me . . . and frightened the holy hell out of me. With everything that happened today, I hadn't had much time to think about what Ren and I were doing, even with the panty-dropping hot kiss he unloaded on me at headquarters or the way he held my hand as we walked to the old brick home on Royal Street.
My heart kicked around in my chest as I stared at his shadowed face. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."
"It's a great idea. Possibly the best idea I ever had."
Off in the distance, someone howled with laughter. "I don't think—"
"Stop thinking." Ren took my wrist, gently unfolding my arms. "You do that too much."
"I don't think you can possibly think too much," I reasoned as my gaze dipped to where he held my wrist between us. Truth was, I didn't want to go home yet. Since I had no idea what to do with Tink, my apartment above the lovely courtyard was a very lonely place to be.
Ren sighed as he smoothed his thumb along the inside of my wrist. "I'm not going to take you to my place and ravish you, Ivy."
My mind was full of images of him stripping my clothes off, holding me down and doing whatever he wanted to me, and parts of my body got really excited about that prospect.
"Unless you want me to, then I'm all for it," he continued, his tone light.  "I'll do whatever you want, just . . . come home with me."
I lifted my gaze to his, and his stare was unflinching, open and honest. The laughter was drawing closer. "If you don't want that from me, why do you want me to come home with you?"
A look of confusion flashed across his face and then he gave me a half grin. "First off, Ivy, I do want that from you. Always. Hell, it's what I've been thinking about since the first time you took a swing at me."
"That's . . . kind of demented."
He ignored that. "But it's not the only thing I want from you. I like hanging out with you. I like spending time with you."
Weirdly, that never really occurred to me, which made me feel kind of stupid, like why wouldn't that have ever crossed my mind? Sometimes I felt like I had the experience of a fifteen year old. To be honest, I liked hanging out with him. These last couple of weeks working with him had made my shifts more enjoyable. Not that I didn't like doing my job, but he made things . . . different.
Looking up at him, I almost said no—almost. "Okay."
The slow grin spread into a full smile that showed off those dimples, and the urge to stretch up and kiss each of them was hard to ignore. The ride home was as uneventful as the evening, but it was strange walking into his apartment at night, as if we were going there to engage in some naughty behavior.
I was nervous as he flipped on the overhead light then headed into the kitchen, grabbing us something to drink. With a beer in one hand and a soda in the other, he swaggered over to the couch, placing both on the coffee table.
As he toed off his boots and socks, he eyed me through his thick lashes. "You know, you can sit on the couch."
I sat on the couch, folding my hands together in my lap.
He shook his head at me. "There's something I actually want to show you—give you. Be right back."
Give me? What could he possibly want to give me? A kiss? I doubted he had to go into his bedroom to get that. And did I want a kiss? I had no problem with those kisses yesterday. God, I didn't know what I wanted.
Or I wasn't ready to acknowledge it.
Either way, Ren returned and sat on the couch beside me, a slender ashy colored wooden stake in his hand. "It's a thorn stake. It'll kill ancients." He placed it in my hand, wrapping my fingers over the smooth, thicker end. His eyes met mine. "I wanted you to have this. I meant to give it to you yesterday, but we kind of got distracted."
Oh, we'd gotten way distracted. "I can't say a guy has ever given me a weapon of stabby awesome before."
That mouth curved up on one side. "Obviously you've never met a guy like me before."
That was so true, in a lot of ways. The stake felt light, but it was sturdy. He slowly slid his fingers off mine, leaving behind a wake of shivers. "Are you sure you want to give this to me?"
"It's my extra. I'm not using it, and I want you to have it on you, especially going forward." He leaned over, grabbing his beer, then settled back against the couch beside me. His thigh rested against mine; the nearness was comfortable to him, and I imagined if I stopped thinking about it, it would be to me too. "You have to hit them in the chest. As if they were vampires."
I turned the stake over, respecting the craftsmanship it took to whittle this baby into such a sharp, destructive end. "Thank you."
He nodded and tipped the bottle to his lips.
"I mean it." Gingerly placing the stake on the coffee table, I grabbed my soda and sat back. Around midnight we received a mass text from David advising us of an emergency meeting Tuesday afternoon. We knew it was about the gate. "How do you think the other Order members will respond to what David's going to talk about?"'