Dead In L.A. (L.A. Paranormal Book 1) by Lou Harper

Author:Lou Harper [Harper, Lou]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harper Books
Published: 2013-11-20T00:00:00+00:00

Dead in the Valley

Chapter One

December charged into town riding hot Santa Ana winds. I'd felt it in my bad shoulder the morning before, and it had tickled whatever sixth sense Andy had.

"Something wicked this way comes," he'd chanted over breakfast.

"That's Harry Potter, right?" I'd asked.

"Yeah, and Shakespeare."

"Smart-ass."

By that evening the wind picked up, and I went to sleep to the sound of it battering the street signs outside. I woke up in a strange mood and a strange bed. I had to have wandered into Leander's room during the night. Talk about embarrassing. At least I was alone. I couldn't remember a shred of my dream but residual emotions were churning through me, leaving me off-kilter.

Andy walked in just as I was about to get up. "Coffee?" He held the mug out as if finding me in his bed was the most natural thing in the world.

I took it and took a cautious sip before saying anything. "I'm sorry about…" I didn't know exactly what, beyond the invasion of his bed.

"No worries, you were sleepwalking again."

Again? "You knew?"

"Well, I've had a suspicion for some time now, but when you climbed into my bed last night, I was sure you weren't your normal wakeful self." He rolled his eyes.

"What did I do?"

"Tucked in and fell asleep. No biggie." With a shrug he turned away.

I slowly drank the rest of my coffee as he puttered around the room. He was barefoot and shirtless, and his jeans hung low on his narrow hips, showing off the two round dips on his lower back.

The past month or so hadn't been easy on me. Ever since we agreed to be friends, Andy kept worming his way into my life. I had a set schedule built around my classes, while he was freewheeling as a psychic locator of pets and other lost property. Somehow he still managed to be home the same time as I was. Soon I was feeding him three times a day, except on Fridays when I had only half an hour for lunch. In exchange he offered to do the grocery shopping. It was a logical arrangement, but made our situation all the more disturbingly domestic. He was like a puppy, always underfoot, but too playful to get angry with him.

Briefly I tried to think of him as a younger brother but stopped. It creeped me out. The unbidden thoughts darting through my mind in his presence were far from brotherly. He was hot as hell in that young and lithe way I'd never cared much for before. Apparently, my tastes had changed with age. I knew my reasons for keeping my paws off him were solid and smart, and my resolve had held. However, this morning I didn't feel quite like myself.

Over the rim of my cup I spied him folding laundry. With his back to me, he knelt in front a plastic basket, arranging the folded pieces in haphazard piles around himself—boxers, T-shirts, jeans. He rolled socks in tight balls. I eyed his milky skin stretching over wiry muscles and the soft bumps of his spine.

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