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“Oh, wow,” I said, unabashed because everything just felt too damn good. With each circle, each stroke of his fingers, my headache subsided. “You’re amazing, Wes.”
He paused in his work, long enough that I opened my eyes.
His were on mine, dark and churning with something I couldn’t define.
“Time to rinse?” I asked, not exactly sure why my throat was tight.
He blinked a few times, nodded, and then grabbed the showerhead. I closed my eyes again while he rinsed and conditioned and then rinsed again. By the time he gently wrung out my hair, I was certain he’d reduced me to the consistency of a puddle.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, after helping me out of the shower and wrapping me in a couple of towels. “You’re dead on your feet.”
“Is it so obvious?” I called to him where he stood outside the closed door, not even bothering to dry my hair. I secured it in one long braid, slipping back into a fresh pair of pjs.
“It is,” he said once I opened the door. He visibly swallowed, and I cringed. I probably didn’t look any better despite having fresh clean hair, but I definitely felt almost human again.
“Thanks,” I said, my voice a shade softer than it was a minute ago. “I can’t even tell you how good this feels.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed, and he cleared his throat, nodding. “Anytime,” he said, his aloof smile returning. He motioned behind him toward my bed. “You want me to carry you again or can you make it?”
I half-debated asking him to carry me just so I could be close to him again, but I quickly shook my head and walked on my own. He’d done enough.
More than enough.
It made my heart do this strange thing in my chest that made it a little hard to breathe around.
“More reality TV?” he asked once we were both settled in my bed again.
“Please,” I answered, hoping I could focus on the show and not the man next to me who was making it extremely hard to focus on anything outside of the way he was making mefeel.
* * *
“Ugh,”I groaned as I opened my inbox.
“Is it bad?” Weston asked from where he lingered in my opened doorway.
“It’s bad,” I answered, rubbing my forehead. It’d been two days since Weston came to my rescue and took care of me. I was back to feeling healthy again, and he was miraculously unaffected after spending the night taking care of me.
“Want to compare who has more?” Weston smiled as he pulled his phone from his pocket, coming to take a seat across from me.
I arched a brow at him. “I bet I have more.”
“What do you want to bet?” he asked, a wild energy pulsing behind his eyes. Westonlivedfor a good bet.
I bit my bottom lip, contemplating.
“Cookies,” I finally answered.
“Cookies?” Weston laughed.
“Not just any cookies,” I clarified. “I want those ones we ate that one time in New York.”
Weston’s eyes shifted to the side, like he was trying to recall the memory. “The chocolate chip walnut ones?”
I raised my brows. “Impressive,” I said, nodding. “If I win, I want a box of those.”
“You could literally have asked for a trip to Bali—”
“I don’t want a trip to Bali,” I cut him off. “I want—”
