Page 98 of What About Us

“Good.” He peppers kisses over my face and then helps me get dry.

I step into fresh underwear and sweats, but when he holds out one of my own T-shirts, I shake my head.

“Can I have one of yours?”

His face softens. “Of course.”

Xander disappears for about twenty seconds and returns with a simple black T-shirt, and when he tugs it over my head, I inhale, pulling the scent of him into my lungs, and it immediately soothes me.

He grabs my hairbrush and then leads me out of the bathroom. I see that all my shopping bags are lined up tidily in the closet, and I bite my lip. He guides me into the living room, where he has a bunch of fluffy blankets set out—blankets that weren’t here this morning—and gestures for me to have a seat.

“Let’s get cozy, Red.”

Before he can sit with me, the doorbell rings, and he rushes off to take care of the food. I hear him murmuring, the door closing, and then he joins me, holding a pizza box in one hand and a bag of Chinese food in the other.

“I got options,” he says. “I’ll get plates, and we can have either or both.”

I’m wrapped up in the coziest blanket I’ve ever had the pleasure of touching. In fact, this man keeps buying me blankets like that’s his whole fucking job in life.

He treats me like I’m a queen. Like I’m the most important person ever born.

When he returns, he’s armed with plates and cutlery, but I’ve already pulled out a slice of pizza and am chowing down.

He grins.

“Good?”

“Smm gmff.”

Xander laughs, and I grin at him as he loads some General Tso’s on his plate and digs in. We sit in silence as we eat, watching each other.

I love this living room. Xander must have a thing for views because the Montana house has stunning mountain scenery.

This penthouse has similar floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over Denver, and the city lights are so beautiful at night. He has this room dimmed, the gas fireplace is crackling, and my emotions are leveling out.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I think I was a little overwhelmed.”

I toss my crust in the box, and Xander looks scandalized.

“You don’t eat the crust?”

“Um . . . no?”

“No coffee, no crust, you’re an alien.”

I snort out a laugh, and Xander sets his empty plate aside and then scoots in behind me and picks up my hairbrush.

Methodically, he runs the bristles through my hair, and it’s so fucking good.

“You can do that every day.”

“Deal,” he says immediately. “It soothes me.”

That surprises me.

“Really?”