The House on Hancock Hill by Indra Vaughn Read Free Book Online

mental picture of Henry’s mouth on my cock.
    “Jason? I just brought in your bag. It’s on the bed.”
    Sputtering around a gulp of warm water, I nearly slipped on the tile as I watched the come rinse off my knuckles. “Uh, thanks,” I croaked, squeezing my eyes shut.
    Great, I couldn’t make it more obvious what I’d been up to if I tried. Behind the door, Henry cleared his throat.
    “I’ll, uh, go fetch your medication next.”
    “Okay.”
    I stood under the spray for a long time, but I couldn’t hear if Henry had left. How long had Henry been there? Had he tried to get my attention before? Shit.
    After pulling on a pair of jeans, a long sleeved Henley, and the warmest sweater I’d brought—which wasn’t very warm, to be honest—I went back into the living room. It was small but tidy. When we’d walked in, I hadn’t paid attention to the décor, but I saw what Henry meant about going back in time. Everything, from the wallpaper to the curtains to the couch, was pink and flowery. It kind of made me think this was what living inside a strawberry cheesecake would be like. Even the carpet was a shade of salmon that made my head hurt. It gave way to pink tiles in the open plan kitchenette which held a stove I was sure had seen the turn of a century or two.
    Still, it was a roof over my head, and I was so grateful for that, I grabbed one of the blankets off the bed and sank into the couch with a deep, exhausted sigh. The thing was so soft and comfortable, there was no way I’d be getting up without help, so I closed my eyes and fell asleep instantly.
     
     
    A STRANGE impression of someone stroking my hair permeated my dreams, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I carefully stretched my stiff muscles and yawned. A brown paper bag sat next to a white one in the dining nook underneath the window. I struggled to my feet and made my way over. A note was propped up against my wallet.
     
Brought you something to eat to tide you over.
Mrs. Mitchell invited you for dinner this evening at seven. I suggest you go; her beef Stroganoff is to die for.
Hope you feel better when you wake up. Didn’t want to disturb you.
H.
     
    I ignored the rush of disappointment at not catching him, but I knew he probably had things to do, and it wasn’t as if we were just going to pick up where we’d left off as teenagers and hang out again all night. Still, it was only three o’clock, and getting dark out already, so I had a few hours to kill. After taking care of calling my insurance company and making sure they’d cover the rental car, I decided to contact the sheriff’s department.
    “Houghton County Sheriff’s Office,” someone said pleasantly on the other end of the line. “What can I do you for?”
    “Hello, this is Jason Wood speaking. I’m calling about—”
    “The Johnson farm fire, yes,” the someone said. I honestly couldn’t tell from their voice if they were male or female. It definitely wasn’t Colleen, or I’d have asked her about Zach’s anal glands. “Mr. Wood, how are you feeling?”
    Ugh, small towns.
    “Much better, thank you. Deputy Ron was going to set up an appointment for me. Could you see if he’s done that?”
    “Deputy Ron has left for the day.” At 3:00 p.m .? Not much crime around these parts, then. “But don’t worry, Mr. Wood. You make sure you settle in with Mrs. Mitchell”—my jaw dropped—“and we’ll contact you tomorrow.”
    Jesus Christ. I hung up.
    My stomach made a noise, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything since that morning’s coffee and toast. The bag Henry had left me revealed a BLT and a hummus veggie sandwich. There was something heartwarming about the thought that Henry might’ve considered me a vegetarian, and I knew I was going to have to watch myself. This was nothing more than sentimentality over a lost friendship.
    There was a packet of salty chips and a bottle of Coke. I wasn’t a fan of soda, so I put the bottle in the small fridge to the left of