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You dumb heifer.
Slapping a hand over my eyes, I groaned in total mortification.
Dax stirred beside me at the sound, pulling in a breath. “Morning,” he greeted, his voice all thick and rumbly from sleep.
“I hate wine,” I whispered, not in theleastbit impressed when I sensed his shoulders shake. Removing my hand from my face, I looked at him again, my gaze narrowing at the amused smile he wore. “Something funny?”
Ignoring my question, he raked his gaze over my face, not bothering to shrink his smile. “How do you feel?”
“Peachy.”
His smile amped up a notch, taking on a superior quality. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”
This motherfucker.“That was plain insensitive.”
He gave a slight shrug. “Doesn’t make me wrong.” He eased onto his side, pulling back his arm. “Go shower. You smell like a winery.”
“Flatterer.” Given he’d be well-aware I was in no condition to indulge in shower sex, I had no doubt that I’d be showering alone this morning.
We didn’t regularly shower together. When we did, it always went the same way: we each took care of washing our own bodies and hair, he sat back and watched while I finished since he was always done first, and then we’d fuck.
It was never planned. He just …appearedin the stall sometimes—no prior warning, not even a hint that he might join me. I got the feeling he simply liked to keep me on my toes.
My movements a little clunky and uncoordinated, I threw back the covers, edged out of bed, and carefully stood—so damn thankful the room didn’t spin. My footsteps dragging, I padded to the ensuite bathroom. Inside, there was a whole lot of fumbling and weaving as I did my business.
I winced when I got a good look at my reflection in the mirror.Dear Lord.It was galling to know that Dax had seen me like this.
My eyes were mere slits. My face was all puffy. Smudges of mascara were beneath my eyes and smeared across my cheeks. And my hair … oh, my hair. I wouldn’t be surprised to find baby birds in it.
Shit, the baby bird! He’d better have been kidding about Gypsy’s most recent “gift.”
Tugging open the door of the wall-mounted cabinet, I dug two painkillers out of a small bottle and quickly downed them. Silently praying my headache passed fast, I took a swift shower. As expected, he didn’t join me.
Having wrapped a fluffy towel around myself. I padded back into the bedroom and—
I halted.
On my nightstand stood a tall glass of water and also a glass of what looked to be coconut water. My stupid heart squeezed, so easily touched by the little things he did. Which made me feel far too vulnerable; granted him too much power. Neither of which I could do anything about.
In between pulling on comfy clothes and brushing my wet hair, I took swigs of both drinks until each glass was empty. Downstairs, I found Dax making coffee in the kitchen. The smell upset my queasy stomach.Fuck wine.
He looked at me, taking in my poor posture and no doubt haggard face, and his lips winged up. “You look more ill than you did when you were actually ill.”
I snarled. “I was about to thank you for these,” I began, tipping my chin at the glasses I held, “but now I’m not gonna.” He could go swivel.
His amusement not dimming, he drank from his mug. “Did you take painkillers?”
“Yes,” I pretty much grunted. “They haven’t kicked in yet.” Setting the glasses on the counter, I yanked open the dishwasher. “Stop smirking.”
“It’s not my fault you’re cute when you’re hungover and crabby.”
He didn’t say “cute” like it was a compliment. It was more of a patronizing statement. Like I was a bunny trying to squeeze through a small hole.Dick.
“Tell me Gypsy didn’t really kill a chick,” I pled.
“If I did, it would be a lie.”
I groaned and loaded the glasses into the dishwasher. “I’m just gonna pretend you’re full of shit.”
