Read Online Homecoming by Amber Benson - Free Book Online Page B

of his green flannel shirt slipping down to expose the vivid black-and-purple edges of an octopus tentacle ringing his wrist.
    The tattoo reached out from inside the folds of his sleeve, and Lyse was certain if she was ever so lucky as to see him without his shirt on, there would be even more octopus to discover.
    The man saw Lyse noticing his tattoo and gave her a languid smile.
    â€œThat’s Clyde,” he said. “Wanna see the rest of him?”
    Without meaning to, she found herself nodding, and suddenly he was stripping off the flannel—a weathered wifebeater kept things chaste—and turning his forearm toward her, so she could see Clyde the octopus in the flesh.
    â€œIncredible,” she said, and, without realizing what she was doing, found herself reaching out to touch him.
    She yanked her hand back but continued to marvel at the beautifully rendered piece of art. It was all swirling tentacles, rounded body, and haunting amber eyes, the vertically slit pupils reminding Lyse of a cat’s eyes. Clyde wasn’t alone on the man’s skin. His arms and torso, at least what she could see of them around the wifebeater, were covered in intricate nautical-themed ink, his body a misguided mash note to the sea.
    She felt strangely vulnerable standing in the middle of the sidewalk with this man. She wasn’t just looking at his tattoos. She was sharing something intimate with him, speaking a wordless language that was all about context, made up of tentative, shared looks and shyly averted eyes—and then before she could really process everything, the show was over. He was pulling his flannel back on and buttoning it into place.
    â€œI love it,” Lyse said. “Clyde’s gorgeous.”
    â€œAppreciate that,” he said, taking a green knit cap out of his back pocket and pulling it down over his head, a few naughty strands of blond hair poking out. “So what’s your deal? You live around here?”
    Lyse wanted to say that yes, she lived here. That this was
her
neighborhood, and
he
was the interloper—but nostalgia didn’t make her the owner of a place. Just because her most poignant memories were made here didn’t mean Echo Park belonged to her.
    â€œI used to live here. Up the street, actually,” Lyse found herself saying. “But I haven’t been back in ages.”
    The man nodded.
    â€œIt’s a special place,” he said. “You feel it in your bones. When you belong somewhere. From the moment I set foot here, I knew it’s where I was meant to be. Sounds stupid. Don’t know why I’m telling you this . . .”
    He seemed embarrassed by his words, as if he’d unconsciously divulged too much information about himself.
    The funny thing was that she understood completely. He’d described the exact same feeling she’d had standing on Eleanora’s front porch one wet afternoon twelve years ago, hope burning in her heart like a precious flame. She remembered shaking like a leaf, terrified she’d have to go back to the children’s home—just the memory of the place with its urine stink and unwashed-body smell made her feel ill—but then she’d looked up into Eleanora’s wise granite face and realized she was home.
    Home.
    The word caromed around inside her head.
    â€œWhere did you just go?” he asked, grinning at her.
The man couldn’t stop smiling, could he?
    He was right. She’d been a million miles away and hadn’t even realized it. Now it was Lyse’s turn to be embarrassed.
    â€œSorry,” she said, looking down at her hands, at the bitten cuticles and ragged nails.
    â€œIt’s a charming quality,” he said. “I’m Weir. By the way.”
    â€œThat’s a very sexy name you got there, Weir,” Lyse said, looking up at him through lowered lashes, surprised by her own flirtatiousness.
    â€œOh . . . yeah?” he said, and