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“They haven’t even been in here,” she pointed out. “In fact, when they bring supplies or food, they tell us to back away and then push it into the room without looking at us.”
“True,” I agreed. “But I’m in here with you. You don’t think I’d kick up a stink if something started to happen to you that was bad?”
She crossed her arms over her chest with a grumble, and my eyes were once again drawn to her breasts. Her unbound breasts because, apparently, when she didn’t have to, she didn’t wear a bra.
I’d found that out when she’d come out of the shower last night after we’d eaten.
She hadn’t put one on since.
And her breasts weren’t the type of breasts that you could just leave unbound and someone not notice.
If I made it out of this quarantine without taking advantage of her, it would be a goddamn Christmas miracle.
Working out with her earlier had been terrible. Seeing her breasts jiggle and shake with her movement was downright control destroying. That had to be why I’d told her anything at all about my tattoo. If I’d been under the right mindset, shit would’ve totally been different. I wouldn’t have said a goddamn word.
“I wish we had a Christmas tree or something,” Carolina grumbled as she looked at the bare room. “Or a chair for that matter. Possibly some washed clothes that don’t feel like they came straight from Walmart and itch like a motherfucker.” She kicked the covers at the bottom of the bed. “I don’t understand why they can’t get us these things. It’s no fun.”
I stared at her for a few seconds before turning on the television again and giving what I wanted to do some thought.
Since I did have the connections, I sent a text out to Brad and asked him if he could see what strings he could pull.
Then, the rest of our day was filled with a Die Hard marathon, some eating of bad food that I would have to eventually work off in the gym in the alcove off the main room and conversation with a woman that was very intelligent and knew exactly what to say to get a rise out of me.CHAPTER 6Drinking tip: hold two drinks so you don’t text the person you know you shouldn’t.-Beer mugSAINTQuarantine Day TwoThe morning started the same way the morning before it had started.
My eyes opened first to the sound of her snoring.
Damn, but she really snored loud.
And not even a cute snore, either. But a great big, massive snore that you would expect to come out of a three-hundred-pound man. Not some little slip of a woman.
The second thing I noticed other than her snoring was the way she was practically wrapped around my arm.
She had it in such a tight grip that the entire thing was numb.
Her forehead was pressed to the outside of my bicep, and her lips were slightly parted.
I slowly tried to disentangle myself when there was a knock on the door.
I frowned and glanced at the clock that was on the bedside table.
Six-forty in the morning.
Nice.
I walked to the door and asked, “Yes?”
“Got a few deliveries for you,” Jace said.
I backed up as I said, “Okay. I’m back.”
The door opened and the butt of a tree was forced into the room. It kept coming and coming and coming until it was where I was nearly standing.
Bags were put beside the tree, followed by a few boxes.
And then two more large boxes followed by something so large that they could barely fit it into the room.
By the time they were done, they could barely close the door due to all of the crap.
But manage they did, and then they said, “We’ll be back with your breakfast.”
Then the door was closed, and I was left standing there with my eyes on the sheer amount of shit that was in front of me.
“Is that a tree?”
Her gasped words had me looking at her over my shoulder just as the shades were pulled open on the room.
My eyes automatically went to her ass that was covered by my t-shirt, and then moved up to her face.
She was staring at me with her mouth slightly parted.
“I asked for it,” I admitted.
She walked to where it was and stared at it.
“It’s a real tree,” she said, eyes wide. “They brought us a real tree?”
“A Fraser fir,” I confirmed.
“I… how?” she asked as she walked up to it. “It smells so good!”
“My dad’s got connections,” I answered, not bothering to hide the truth. “We’ve always had Fraser firs. Did you know they don’t grow down here?”
She shook her head. “We always got the fake ones because my brother, Connor, is allergic to almost everything.”
I hummed and walked to the door to grab the tree stand that was placed on the last box before they took off.
