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Where’s Zoe?
Did she run?
Panic like I’ve never felt has me rushing out of bed, my knees nearly giving out the moment my feet hit the floor, and my head spinning with black spots dancing across my vision reminding me that I need to take it fucking easy.
I steady myself on my feet, taking a moment to breathe deeply and let the blood pump around my body before I try to move again.
I’m practically naked, I realize, only in my boxers.
How the fuck did I get to bed? Last I remembered I was out in the kitchen.
And where the fuck did my clothes go?
Zoe must have done this, but I don’t know how. She’s such a small thing. I can’t imagine she was able to move me here on her own.
Did she get help?
Is that why I’m bandaged up?
Needing answers, and desperate to see if she ran, I stagger to my bedroom door, throwing it open so fucking forcefully that the damn thing nearly knocks me the fuck out again when it swings back and hits my forehead.
“A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
My eyes find Zoe’s amused expression across the room where she is standing at the kitchen counter, pouring canned soup into a saucepan.
“You’re here?” I rasp, my voice husky, and she shoots me aduhlook.
“And you’re one smart cookie,” she says with sarcasm lacing her tone, before returning her attention to the saucepan where she sits it on the stove and turns it on.
“You’re cooking?” I mutter, moving slowly across the space and she shoots me areallylook this time.
“Not that there’s much to choose from up here with a practically empty pantry and only a few cans of soup.” She stirs the soup. “You’re not hungry right? I hadn’t really planned on sharing this.”
A smirk tugs at my lips, and I round the table and stalk toward her, causing her brows to shoot up and she drops the spoon to the counter.
“What are you—”
Cupping both sides of her face and ignoring the pain that comes from moving my injured arm, I lean in and press my lips to hers.
She stiffens… for only a moment. And then her body softens as I deepen the kiss.
It’s soft and short, but she doesn’t fight me, and when I pull back, I watch how her dark lashes flutter open when she realizes the kiss is over.
“What was that for?”
“You didn’t run,” I state, and she gives me a one-shouldered shrug.
“Don’t read too much into it. If I’d run and you’d died, then I’d be a dead woman running. I decided to preserve my life for a little longer.”
She’s lying.
She doesn’t want me to know that she actually fucking cares about me, but that’s okay. I’ll wear her down.
Sizzling soup draws her attention away from me, and she curses under her breath as she hurries to remove the saucepan from the heat and gives it a good stir.
“Stop distracting me. I’m hungry and the last thing I want to do is eat burned soup.”
Chuckling, I raise my hands in surrender and back away, moving to the bench seat at the table and sliding in.
