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Then the covers were pulled back and she yelped, shying back. Her head throbbed in protest and she scowled up at the man responsible.
“What have I told you about ripping the covers off me?”
“Ah, I see you’ve woken up yourself again.” He grinned.
“What does that mean? Of course I’m myself.”
Who else would she be?
He sighed. “You’re cute when you’re all prickly and grumpy when you first wake up. But you’re also cute when you’re all cuddly after being sedated.”
She froze.
Cuddly? Her? She was never cuddly.
“I was surprised when you started singing. You might need to work on your tone, though.”
“I don’t sing.”
“Not very well, no. But you do sing.”
“I do not. I never sing. I sound like a frog being strangled when I sing. I haven’t sung since . . .”
Since she and Eden used to make up silly songs in the hospital together. Because that was one of the few times she could remember being happy. Which was crazy when she thought about it.
But she’d barely sung since. The one time she’d tried when she got home, her father had thrown a bottle of beer at her and told her to shut the fuck up.
“Since?”
“It doesn’t matter. I have to pee. Urgently.”
He frowned. “You don’t have a urinary tract infection, do you?”
She gaped up at him. What kind of question was that?
“You often seem to have to pee urgently.”
“I’ve been asleep. That happens when you sleep. What time is it?”
“Nearly five in the afternoon.”
Oh. That wasn’t what she was expecting him to say. As she sat up, he held out a hand to her. She looked at the hand, then up at him.
“Let me help you up.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Do you always question someone when they want to help you?”
“Yep. Because usually they have some sort of ulterior motive.”
“My only motive is to help you get up so you can pee,” he told her.
He seemed sincere, but it was also weird. She wished she understood him better, it would make her life easier.
She knew she shouldn’t accept any help from him, even something this simple.
Yet, she wanted to. Lord, she wanted to so much.
