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Two pots. Four mugs. Four glasses. Four forks.
A couch. But no throw pillows.
A television, but no pictures on the wall.
No photos anywhere.
This was . . . it was hurting him. Where was her personality? Photos of family? Friends?
He might live in what his sister called a bachelor pad, but even he had things. Photos of his family. A few throw pillows that Lottie bought him. A dead plant that Gracen had given him.
Shit, he needed to replace that in case she ever came over. Victor would kill him if he hurt her feelings by not taking care of the plant.
When Aston finally stepped out of the shower, he was sitting on the couch, watching some animal documentary.
“Ow, damn,” he commented. “That gazelle is gonna be dinner.”
She walked into the room, rubbing her wet hair with a towel. She was wearing a tracksuit in a soft pink color.
And she looked freaking adorable.
Fuck. Adorable wasn’t sexy. He should not want to lie her down and strip that damn tracksuit off her.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Yep,” she said in a low, husky voice that he thought was probably due to embarrassment. She had some slashes of red on her cheeks as well. She winced as she watched the lion bring down the gazelle.
“Oh no. The poor gazelle.”
“Just life, baby,” he said. Fuck. He needed to stop calling her baby. What was wrong with him?
“But why does it have to be? Why does the predator always have to win?”
He eyed her curiously. “There some predator in your life I should know about?”
“What? No. Just making an observation.”
Hmm. Was that the truth?
He wanted to press her. But he also knew that he had to get out of there before he lost control. So he jumped to his feet, startling her.
“I’ve got to go. Work stuff.”
“Oh. Right. Of course. Um, thanks for the ride and getting me up in the elevator and stuff.”
“You’re welcome. I made you soup.”
“Thanks.”
“There wasn’t much in your cupboards.” And he was worried it was because she couldn’t afford much food. Why had he never looked into what she did?
Because it’s not your business.
She’s not your business.
“I don’t buy much at a time.”
Because she had to take the bus? Although there was a grocery store not that far from here.
“You look better, anyway.” At least she wasn’t blue.
She looked flustered and unsure with him there. He didn’t think she was the type to have men over.
She better fucking not. Because he’d take every one of those bastards out.
Jesus. Calm. Down.
“See you, Rainbow. Take care.”
He left.
Seriously. Take care. What was he thinking?
God, she felt awful.
She was so cold her teeth were chattering. Yet, her face felt burning hot.
When she tried to swallow, it felt like there were razorblades in her throat.
Crap. She was sick.
And not just a little sick.
Really, really sick.
Her phone buzzed. Was that what had woken her up? Who the heck would be texting her at . . . ten in the morning. Really? How was it ten in the morning?
Sheesh.
Last night, after Maxim left, she’d lay on the couch to watch some mindless TV while sipping on the soup he’d made her.
Someone had banged on the door at one stage, but by the time she’d found the energy to get up, they’d been gone.
Probably a good thing. She didn’t want to be spreading this around anyway.
Maybe it’s Maxim texting you?
That spurred her into picking up her phone. Urgh, this was so ridiculous. She shouldn’t want this guy. He was so far out of her league, it wasn’t funny.
And why would he text her anyway?
He’d walked out of here pretty quickly last night, almost as though he couldn’t wait to leave.
As though she was an inconvenience. Which, let’s face it, she was.
Grabbing her phone, she squinted at it.
It wasn’t him.
And that wasn’t disappointment she felt.
Liar.
Instead, she had a message from Eva asking her to babysit today. Actually, she wasn’t even really asking, she was demanding.
God.
There was no way she could handle looking after kids today. She wasn’t even sure that she could get out of bed.
Aston: No.
Guilt filled her at her short answer. So she added another text.
Aston: Sick.
Eva: I don’t mind if you’re sick. So are the kids.
Yeah, she knew that. Because they’d given her their germs.
Aston: Can’t. Too sick.
There was no reply. Well, hopefully, she’d gotten the message. Another text came through.
Damn, why was she popular all of a sudden?
Gretchen: Glory tonight. At ten.
She groaned. This is what she got for being friendly. She should just stick to being grumpy and cold to people. It was easier.
Aston: Can’t. Sick.
Gretchen: Come on, you can’t be that sick. I can’t go on my own.
Aston: Sorry.
That was it. She was done. She was sure that Gretchen had to have other friends she could take. Or maybe she didn’t.
Rolling over, she snuggled under the blankets. She didn’t care what else was going on today. There was no way she was getting out of this bed.
