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She snorted and went up onto her elbows, frowning. “How did I get here?”
“My brother carried you,” I answered honestly.
She blushed.
“He shouldn’t have done that. I could’ve walked,” she admitted.
“Would you have walked if I’d woken you?” I pushed.
Her mouth turned up into a smile. “Yeah, to my car.”
I grinned despite the pain. “Exactly why I had Banks carry you.”
She shook her head and touched my chest, taking my mind momentarily away from the pain.
“Did you take some ibuprofen?” she asked.
I nodded.
“When?” she pushed.
“About six minutes ago.”
She rolled her eyes and got out of the bed.
“What about the ice pack?” she asked.
“Still on the couch where I left it,” I admitted.
“Let me go get it,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Then, before I could tell her where to go, she was gone.
I could hear her moving through the house. First the squeak of the door, then into the loudly creaking floor of the living room. She moved back much more quickly, pausing slightly in the kitchen to, I guess, return our dishes from dinner.
“Okay,” she said as she arrived. “I stopped and got you a drink of water. And if you tell anyone that I gave you drugs, I’ll deny it to my last dying breath. But I have some Vicodin in my purse. I tore a ligament in my knee a couple of years ago, and every once in a while the pain flares up. So I take some. You okay with taking my meds?”
I laughed. “Give the goods here, woman.”
And with that, she plopped a pill in my hand.
I took it without even questioning her.
“Thanks,” I said as I swallowed the pill down with a healthy gulp of water.
“You’re welcome,” she said just as quietly.
“I need to take my pants off,” I announced when she started to crawl back into the bed.
She paused, mid crawl, then got back onto her feet and walked to the side of the bed as if she was waiting there to help me.
“Well?” she asked when I just looked at her.
I threw off the sheet and started to lift my hips as I also pushed my pants down.
She watched me until I got them down to my calves, then helped me the rest of the way.
She was methodical, no-nonsense, and looked as if she gave zero fucks.
That was until she finished taking them off my bad ankle and carefully folded the pants and laid them on my bedside table.
“If you weren’t hurt,” she said softly as she touched my abdomen. “I might forget my ‘let’s move slow’ comment earlier.”
I blinked.
And before I could say a word, she was once again beside me.
I laid there, unsure of what I wanted to say to that comment, wondering if I even should say anything.
In the end, I decided ‘fuck it.’
“I’m not hurt that bad,” I told her.
There was a long, silent pause, then she moved until she was cuddled into my side.
“If you say that again in the morning…”Chapter 10100 % that bitch.
-Coffee Cup
Desi
“If you say that again in the morning…”
Those words came back to haunt me.
“I’m not hurt that bad,” I heard said about an hour after I’d woken up.
I’d woken earlier, had to pee in the worst way, and had disappeared into the hallway bathroom before crawling back into bed beside the sleeping man.
I had no idea when he woke.
I’d been lying there for thirty minutes, contemplating whether or not I should go home and start on the cake that I had due tomorrow morning for a one-year-old’s first birthday, or if I should continue to lie in the bed.
Continuing to lie in the bed had won out… so far.
I was also contemplating waking the sleeping giant next to me and asking him if he wanted to go to the gym with me, followed by my new workspace in town to check it out, when the words I’d uttered to him last night came back to haunt me.
“Um, what?” I said, feeling things start to flutter to life inside of me.
I’d already been feeling those things, of course.
In fact, at some point in the night, I’d also lost my pants. Which was something I was known to do seeing as sleeping in anything constrictive tended to make me uncomfortable as hell.
So finding myself in only a comfy t-shirt and my panties hadn’t come as a surprise.
What had come as a surprise was the fact that I’d practically wrapped myself around Callum’s body, using his legs as a pillow between my thighs.
My face had been pressed up against his pectoral muscle, and his arm had been wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me to him.
“You said,” he repeated. “If you say that again in the morning.”
I licked my suddenly dry lips.
“Your ankle doesn’t hurt?” I asked cautiously.
Please say it hurts. Please say it hurts.
If he said it hurt, that’d be my reason to say no.
