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When he turned back, his eyes went to my face for the first time since we were outside his house and the effect was physical, like a falling sensation in my belly. His hand raised slowly, his fingertips whispering across my jaw and the sensation stopped being falling and started to be a fluttering in my stomach. His eyes went soft for a long minute before he shook his head slightly and let his hand drop. "Triple antibiotic," he said oddly, pulling open a drawer, finding some, and slapping it on the counter before reaching for the door and opening it against my back until I moved out of the way.
And then he was gone, leaving me staring at the closed door for a long minute before turning back to the sink and looking into the mirror. It was then that I got it. I had a bunch of shallow scrapes and scratches down my cheek. They were nothing, superficial, wouldn't even scar, but they had made his eyes soften. How freaking weird was that? I sighed loudly and washed my face, skipping the triple antibiotic because I didn't really need it.
I was just starting to fret about what I was supposed to be doing when there was a knock at the door. With drawn-in brows, I pulled the door open and there was Wolf, holding out a white tee with various items piled on top: a toothbrush, towel, washcloth, and bottle of ibuprofen. "Shower tomorrow," he instructed, shoving the pile toward my chest then waving at my arm as an explanation in case I was too stupid to realize that I shouldn't bathe with freshly wrapped gauze.
"Um... thanks," I murmured, closing the door before I remembered I was supposed to be plotting his incapacitation instead of showing him gratitude. But, well, there was no way I would make it to my car without being spotted by some idiot cop asking questions. Especially once they realized who I was. I had to wait until sunup when walking around wouldn't be so conspicuous. And, well, my clothes were filthy.
I piled the stuff on the counter, tying my hair up with the band I kept around my wrist, then digging out the toothpaste and brushing before stripping out of my filthy clothes and unfolding Wolf's t-shirt that was large enough to completely swallow me up, hanging most of the way down my thighs and wide enough to fit another me and a half inside. I felt naked (because I very nearly was), but I couldn't sit in the bathroom all day to save my modesty. With a sigh, I walked back into the main area of the house to find Wolf scrolling through something on his phone. It didn't take a genius to realize that the grim set to his mouth implied he had just learned that not only did I blow up Lex's mansion and The Henchmen compound, but also Hailstorm, the Mallick's bar, and Summer's father's estate.
Hearing me step out, his head snapped up, doing a very short inspection that didn't linger anywhere womanly, instead landing on my face and staying. Uncomfortable under his gaze, I shrugged a shoulder. "Not going to ask why I blew up most of the criminal empires in the area?" I asked, deciding it would be better to own up to it than be accused of it.
"No."
"Why not?"
"You got reasons?" he asked, surprising me enough to answer automatically.
"Yes."
To that, he shrugged.
"Bed," he said gesturing toward it like it could have possibly escaped my notice, taking up half of the room as it did.
"Um... yeah... that's a bed." If I didn't know better, I would think he was daft.
I got another of his amused snorts and his lips stopped twitching and gave into a small smile as he shook his head at me. "Sleep," he clarified. "I'll be there," he added this time, gesturing to the recliner.
And, well, that was downright chivalrous of him. Who was he to be a good guy? He was kidnapping me! Sort of. But maybe not really. I didn't even know anymore.
"That's stupid," I said instead of admitting I wanted to know why he was being nice to me and why he was making me stay with him instead of bringing me to my car. "You're a Hulk; you can't sleep on a recliner. You'll be all in knots and stuff by morning. I mean... not that I care if you're all in knots or anything seeing as you're holding me here against my wishes but I mean it's only logical that I should..."
"Woman. Bed. Now," he demanded, his tone all serious and deep and I found my feet moving toward the bed before my brain could tell them not to. Unwilling to look indecisive, I huffed as I pulled back the comforter and sheet and climbed inside, glad for a way to hide my naked legs. God, when was the last time I had even shaved? On that thought, I rubbed my legs together under the blankets, feeling the bristles that implied it had been at least three days but that I wasn't sporting cavewoman hair yet. Not that the caveman across the room from me seemed adverse to hair given his face, but still. It stupidly mattered to me.
"Sleep," he demanded, dropping down into his recliner and popping up the leg rest that cut off somewhere just under his knees.
"It's like... ten o'clock," I reasoned, cocking a brow. What were we, middle schoolers? What full grown adult went to bed at ten at night? I mean... I never slept anyway but still. It was the principle of the thing. "Are you, as well as being a mountain man and near-mute, also some kind of old man who has to go to sl..." I trailed off mainly because he had flicked on the TV and cranked the volume up so high that there was no way he could hear me over it anyway.
Well fine then.
I threw myself backward onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling, doing my best to not think about the events of the night and how I had royally, epically fucked my life up. Yeah, I tried that. I obviously failed.
