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“Dita,” he called me out again. This time through a layer of annoyance.
I sighed. I’d better tell him before he went all mopey or shed the cloak of patience. I wanted to go to sleep and be left alone. Better pick my battles.
“I had a brain contusion at the end of last year. I get these headaches that equals getting set on fire. Alive. So, please. I just want to rest.”
“Fine,” Ares huffed. “But you’re going to do it in my bed. I don’t want anyone sneaking around and finding you like this.”
Steph snorted. “They know better than to sneak around in here.”
“Some of them do,” Ares accused Steph.
He cradled me in his arms as if I weighed nothing and told Steph to take a hike. I didn’t have the energy to tell him that was rude.
Once I hit his mattress, he toed off his shoes and settled back against the headrest. Stuffing a pillow onto his lap, he helped me get comfortable. He then put on the television but muted the sound.
Lacing his fingers with mine, he kissed my hand. “You want to tell me how you got that contusion?” he gruffly asked and massaged my skull with his other hand.
“Mm, I like this.”
He grunted, “The company or the pampering?”
“Both,” I sighed, content.
“Good.”
I sagged further into the pillow and listened to the soft hum of the air conditioning. The pill I took earlier shaved off the edge of the sharp pounding. I finally found some peace.
“Last Christmas, there was a big dance competition. I was thrilled when my boss came up and told me he wanted me to partner up with him. I told I would be happy to. Of course, I squealed in silence afterwards. It could’ve sky-rocketed my career.” I sighed, thinking about the sparks of excitement that had erupted in my belly. “We won. We stayed a while, celebrated with a few drinks. I went to the bathroom—alone. Next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital with tubes sticking everywhere. Pushed down a flight of stairs—”
“You got what?” he barked, pausing the heavenly finger-combing through my hair.
“Can you keep it down?” I nudged him, happy when he sensed he should continue the gentle weave of his fingers through my hair.
“You’re telling me that you got pushed down the stairs? How do you want me to react, sweetness?”
He felt rigid underneath me. Topped with the softness in his voice, it was a weird combination. “Since you’ve been the one pestering me, it’s weird having you all protective suddenly.”
Sex was one thing, but cuddles and talks?
He chuckled. “Alright, I’ll own that.” Then he dreamily teased, “Naked activities tend to have such an impact on me.”
“If rolling my eyes wouldn’t hurt...”
“So, this happens a lot?” He ignored my retort and softly knocked my forehead with a knuckle.
I hummed under his touch. “Occasionally.”
“I saw you grimace at the shelter. I wish you would’ve asked me to take you home.”
I didn’t answer. I hadn’t wanted him to leave “the kids”. Not when we finally had found some common ground to play on. Also, I hadn’t expected him to be so overbearing. But I was entertained by his touch and snuggled closer.
“Was it the guy you danced with?”
“You can’t let this go, can you?”
He heavily inhaled. “Do I look like a guy who lets go of things?”
Well, he was having a hateful grudge against his dad for the last two years. And for some reason, he had one against me when I arrived. Which we cleared out pretty quickly when things got a little hot between the sheets—and some other places.
