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“Because she’s right. Your aunt’s tough. She ran out of medication, which was why this one was a little bit worse, but she’s better now and has her meds.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and I suspect she’s taking in what I just said.
“What’s your name again?” the girl asks.
“Kyle. And yours is Ladybug?” I take a seat on one of the stools in Riley’s kitchen.
She lets out a small giggle. “Only Aunt Ry calls me that. My name is Eve.”
“Nice to meet you, Eve.”
“How do you know my aunt?”
“We work together.” That’s the truth but Riley is a hell of a lot more than a colleague. She’s quite literally the only woman I’ve shared a bed with on more than one occasion and hadn’t fucked yet. But I doubt her niece needs to know that.
“Thank you for taking care of her.”
I adjust my position on the stool, feeling something warm move through my body at Eve’s words.
“I-I got scared when she didn’t call me yesterday night or this morning. Aunt Riley always calls me on Friday nights.”
The fear in her voice twists my damn stomach in a knot.
“That’s probably my fault,” I confess. “I made her stay in bed longer than she wanted because she was still in a little bit of pain.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding innocent. “She likes gummy bears after one of her headaches.”
My eyebrows lift.
“Not any brand, though. She only eats Haribo gummy bears. She says anything else is a cheap knockoff.”
A deep chuckle spills from me. I grab a pen from the counter and a piece of paper from a notepad Riley has on the refrigerator and write ‘Haribo gummy bears’ on it.
“Anything else?”
“Um …” She thinks for a moment. “She likes the blue flavor sports drink. The really popular one. She drinks a lot of those after one of her headaches.”
I write down the brand I think she’s talking about.
“And she doesn’t like hot chocolate.”
I frown because I found a couple of boxes of gourmet hot chocolate mix in one of Riley’s cabinets.
“She keeps them at home for me,” Eve explains as if she knows about the boxes in the cabinet. “She says hot chocolate is nothing more than warmed chocolate milk. But she’s wrong. They have very different flavors,” she says in such a serious tone, I don’t refute.
“And her fuzzy slippers are her favorite. Her feet get cold like mine.”
I honestly can’t even believe I’m writing all of this shit down. But I do.
“Kyle, have you seen my—” Riley appears from the hallway.
I stare at her in the long T-shirt she’s wearing that stops at her mid-thigh. Riley has long, shapely legs. I can’t pull my eyes away from them anymore than I could pull myself away from her bedside, not too long ago.
What the hell is going on with me?
“Is that her?”
Eve’s question pulls me out of my musings.
