Page 51 of Ghost Ribbon

I stared at him, processing that.

Okay. I was going to burn down a kitchen the next time that happened. I didn’t like the idea of him getting hurt. It actually pissed me off, which was weird because it was very hard to piss me off. Easy to annoy me, sure. But true anger? That was rare. Anger was a strong emotion that demanded an even stronger reaction, and I didn’t care about anything enough to feel it.

“Then don’t cook anymore,” I said flatly.

Marco blinked, pausing with the bandage halfway around my arm. “What am I supposed to eat then?”

“Doesn’t your mom cook?” I asked. “Her food tastes amazing.”

He gave a small shrug, still focused on wrapping the gauze. “My mom isn’t home all the time. I’m not a baby. I can cook.”

My eyes darkened again at the stubborn little note in his voice. He tried to retreat, stepping back half a pace like he could sense the shift in me. Fuck. I should control my expression sometimes. Before he could move any farther, I reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Why did you help me right now?”

“You were hurt.”

I studied him.

“You were hurt,” he repeated, softer this time, like he thought I hadn’t heard him the first time. “So I helped.”

I kept holding his wrist, thumb brushing once over the delicate skin there.

“You don’t usually do things like this,” I said. “You usually run or freeze or try to disappear when I’m too close.”

“I panicked. When I saw the blood on you. It felt wrong.”

I tilted my head slightly, still holding his wrist. “Wrong how?”

He swallowed. “Wrong like… you shouldn’t be the one bleeding. I don’t know how to explain it. It just felt like something I had to fix.”

“You’re full of surprises today, little star,” I murmured.

Marco let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. “I don’t feel very surprising. I feel like I’m going to pass out from how fast my heart is beating right now.”

I released his wrist slowly, letting my fingers trail off his skin. He didn’t step back. Instead, he went back to the bandage, finishing the wrap. When he was done, he taped it down and stepped back properly this time, wiping his hands on his pajama pants again.

“There. It isn’t perfect, but it should hold until you can get it checked properly.”

I flexed my shoulder once. The bandage was tight enough to be useful, loose enough not to cut off circulation. “It’s fine.”

Marco nodded, looking everywhere except directly at my bare chest. “Good. Um. You should probably put your shirt back on before you leave. It’s cold outside.”

I reached for the discarded shirt on the bed but didn’t put it on yet. Instead, I studied him again.

“You’re still shaking,” I observed.

“I’m still nervous,” he admitted.

I reached out, caught the front of his oversized baby blue pajama shirt in my fist, and pulled him forward hard enough that he stumbled straight into me. His small hands flew up to brace against my chest on instinct, but I didn’t give him time to think. I leaned down and kissed him.

I claimed his mouth the way I always did, my tongue pushing past his lips the second they parted in surprise. One hand stayed fisted in his shirt while the other slid around to the back of his neck, holding him exactly where I wanted him.

Marco made a muffled sound against my mouth, body going stiff for half a second before melting in that helpless way he always did when I kissed him like this. His fingers curled tighter into my open shirt, gripping the fabric like he didn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.

I kissed him harder, biting his bottom lip just enough to sting before soothing it with my tongue. He tasted sweet and nervous and warm, and the tiny whimper he let out when I angled his head to deepen the kiss went straight through me. I could feel the way his knees weakened, the way he had to lean into me to stay upright. Perfect.

When I finally pulled back, his lips were swollen and wet, eyes glassy. He was breathing hard, cheeks flushed dark, looking thoroughly wrecked and still a little dazed. Exactly how I liked him.

“Your phone,” I said.