Page 109

He doesn’t bite me. Promising. So, I run my hand once between his ears. A low rumble starts in his chest.

“No fucking way.”

I scratch behind one ear, and the rumble gets louder. “You’ve spent two weeks acting like you want me dead.”

He closes his eyes and leans into my hand.

Traitor.

Or maybe I am. Hard to tell anymore.

Footsteps sound overhead, and his eyes open. A second later, he pulls away, walks across the room, and hops back onto the opposite end of the sectional like the last thirty seconds never happened.

I point at him. “Don’t worry, little demon. Your secret’s safe with me.”

He licks his paw.

Apparently, we’re collecting secrets around here. The cat secretly doesn’t hate me. Laney tried to stay awake, waiting for me to come home. And I’ve got a few of my own I’m getting increasingly shitty at keeping.

Including the way I feel about the gorgeous little bookworm currently inching her way under my skin.

Footsteps hit the stairs before I can examine that thought too closely, probably for the best.

I kick off my shoes and slide them beneath the edge of the coffee table, then undo the top button of my shirt.

She appears a second later, carrying enough medical supplies to treat a gunshot wound. I stare at the pile in her arms.

“Jesus. I’m not dying.”

“You’re welcome.” She drops the first-aid kit onto the coffee table, followed by a water bottle and a small ice pack wrapped in a dish towel. Then she holds out two orange pills. “Take these.”

I look at her palm. “What are they?”

“Ibuprofen.”

“You trying to drug me, Baby Becks?”

“You wish.”

I take the pills and swallow them with half the bottle of water. “Happy?”

“Immediately.” She sits beside me. Close beside me. Apparently, the giant sectional wasn’t enough space. Not that I’m complaining.

I grab the remote and turn on the TV, desperate for a distraction from the smell of vanilla mixed with antiseptic currently invading my nostrils.

A late-night sports recap fills the screen, volume low. Highlights scroll across the bottom while some guy in a suit analyzes a football game I couldn’t give a care less about.

At least it gives me somewhere else to look.

“Turn toward me.” So much for that.

“I do, and Laney shifts closer. Her knee brushes mine. Then her fingers catch my chin.

Every muscle in my body goes tight.

She doesn’t seem to notice. Or she’s pretending not to. I’m doing plenty of that myself tonight.

“Hold still.”