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Secretly, I’m trying to keep her up another hour or two.
The doc said she’s not concussed… but I don’t like the idea of her closing her eyes anytime soon.
“How about a quick hot shower? I got you a mini loofah and body wash. There wasn’t a lot of options, but I found this men’s t-shirt with the motel logo on it. Sorry it’s so fucking ugly. It’s cotton and looks like it’ll be kinda long on you. Figured it could be comfortable to sleep in. Like a sleep shirt.”
I have no clue why the hell I’m explaining this to her. She’s barely listening, and it’s not like this is some tender situation. Some lowlife Hellrazors ambushed us tonight, and I’m feeling guilty Sydney got the brunt of it.
That’s all.
“Here. Raise your arms.”
She listens. Again telling me she’s not herself right now.
I tug her t-shirt off and announce I’m going for her bra. She doesn’t stop me.
Anytime I’ve got Sydney naked in my presence, I’m turned on. It’s a fact of life when she looks as good as she does—full, bouncy breasts with bitable nipples and a flat stomach with a pierced belly button. Her rounded hips and the tight, warm comfort between her thighs…
My body reacts to hers, even given the shitty situation we’re in. I feel a tug in my groin, suddenly aware of the heaviness of my balls.
But I ignore it.
I focus on Sydney, helping her into the shower, and asking if the water temp is okay. She murmurs that it is, then something about being able to do it alone. That I don’t need to help her. She’s got it.
Even she doesn’t sound like she buys it—her stubbornness is urging her to act tough. She hates being vulnerable. Most of all around me.
I don’t blame her. I feel the same.
Bloody water from her cuts and scrapes circles the drain. I clench my jaw and begin mapping out a murder plot against the Hellrazors.
They’re not getting away with this. I’ll rip them to shreds myself.
After toweling Sydney off, I slip the Sweetheart Inn men’s t-shirt on her, then help her to bed. The way she crawls onto the bed before flopping down on the pillow almost makes me grin. I would if I still wasn’t so pissed off.
“Comfy?”
“Mmm,” she hums, her eyelids heavy. “Lay down with me.”
“Syd—”
“This bed is big enough.”
She’s right. It’s huge, and like most things in this cheap motel, ugly as fuck. It’s king-sized and in the shape of a heart. A bright red bedspread made of crushed velvet is draped over the mattress. I don’t want to stand in the same room let alone lay on a bed this ugly.
But, for Sydney, I do it.
Her medications have taken over. She’s delirious and tired.
The second she dozes off, I’ll get up, and reattack tonight’s events. I’ve got to call the guys back at the club and let them in on what’s happened.
We need to start setting our retaliation in motion.
I lay down beside Sydney, staying above the covers in my boots. I’m on my back and she’s on her side. She scoots closer, her arm falling across my abdomen. I glance down, then over at her.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she murmurs. “I always hug a pillow when I sleep. It comforts me.”
A weird sensation develops inside me at her vulnerable confession. At the fact that she’s initiated this kind of contact—and the fact that I didn’t pull away like I normally would with a woman.
I stay put, letting her curl into me. The feeling of her warm, soft body at my side isn’t bad. It’s enjoyable if I’m being honest. A feeling I could get used to…
