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“Tell me exactly how you got me to my bed.”
She stares me down for a few long beats before she sighs and shifts her gaze to the floor in the small living space next to us.
“I used your ugly ass floor mat.” She shrugs, returning her attention to her soup. “At first, I tried to be gentle, but you’re heavy, and I was over looking after your sorry ass. So, I shoved you off the seat,” she gestures her spoon to where I’m sitting, “and you landed on the mat, and I dragged it across the room and into yours.” She slurps up some more soup off her spoon before continuing. “The real challenge was getting you off the floor and onto your bed. I considered leaving you there on the floor, but the last thing I wanted was to hear you whine like a little bitch about a sore back when you woke up, so after so many attempts at getting your dead weight up onto the bed, I finally did it.”
Her smile is wide now, thoroughly pleased with herself.
“You may have fallen a couple of times halfway through the process of getting you on the bed. Hence the bruises.”
A laugh rips from me without warning, throwing my head back as I clutch my stomach at her storytelling.
“Laugh all you want, but you owe me. I could have left you to die.”
Sucking in some O2, I compose myself enough to talk.
“I can pay you back with my tongue.”
Her cheeks flush at the suggestion, but she plays it off with an eye roll.
“Your tongue isn’t that fucking good.”
I scoff. “Let’s readdress that when you’re coming on my face later.”
She rolls her eyes again, returning her attention to the last bit of soup in her bowl, and fuck, I love this banter. I love knowing she did everything she could to look after me when she absolutely could have run off and left me for dead.
She cares. I know it.
And fuck, I think I can actually trust her.
She may have shot me, but she kept me alive, and hell, I’ve been out for hours, so I know she would have been checking in on me.
The fact that I trust her doesn’t really change the fact that she doesn’t trust me. And with good reason, but fuck, I want her to trust me. I want her to see me for more than the monster I am.
“We should change those bandages,” Zoe states as she stands from the table and takes her bowl to the sink where she rinses it out and washes it before placing it on the rack to dry.
She doesn’t wait for me to respond, instead moving to the cupboards above the fridge and getting the first aid kit back out.
I finish up my soup as I watch her place items on the tabletop like she’s done this ten times before.
“How many times have you changed my bandages?” I ask, and she doesn’t even bother looking at me as she responds, her eyes trained on the bandages and other supplies as she sorts them into some sort of order.
“Aside from the original bullet removal and patch up, just one other time.”
“Shit. How long was I out?”
She shrugs. “Just a day. It was bleeding a fair bit, so I had to change the dressings sooner than I would have liked, but it seems to have settled down now.”
Her blue eyes find me then, and I offer her what I hope is a warm smile. I’m not really sure if my face is familiar with such a fucking thing.
“You ready?”
I nod, shifting back on the bench seat to rest back on the cushion and pat my lap.
“Saddle up.”
“Seriously? This again? I can’t straddle you every time I change your dressings, Grayson.”
“Yes, you fucking can,” I state, patting my bare thigh again. “Now, saddle the fuck up.”
