“That was an accident! And anyway—it got torched when my house blew up, which is way worse than an insignificant burn on the seat.”
He raises his brow. “You do understand it probably went up faster because of the residual popper juice in the carpeting, right?”
Everett elbows Rafi. “It’s kinda fun to watch them fight, isn’t it?”
Omar and I look over at the two of them.
“This isn’t fighting.”
“This is practically foreplay,” I say at the same time.
Omar scowls at me, his face a mixture of frustrated and turned on. Heh.
My work here is done.
I click the key fob on my Jeep. “One of the guys fixed my car while we were out gallivanting around East Texas. Let’s move this stern look of yours to a luxury high-rise in Downtown Austin.”
He narrows his eyes but puts his butt in the seat.
* * *
Omar, despite protesting that he feels great, passes out as soon as we hit the highway. The serum is advanced medicine, not voodoo, and we’ve got a way to go before he’s fully healed. He’s still pretty groggy when we get to his place, so I let us in using my preferred break-in method, keeping my arm around him as I walk him to his room.
I help him get undressed, and we go to bed in our underwear, too exhausted for anything else. It’s a little before noon, but he has magical blackout curtains, and we fall asleep almost right away.
I wake up alone, slightly disoriented, and check my phone. No incoming messages, but it’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon. Damn, we were tired.
A few moments later, Omar walks in with milk and a plate of cookies.
“How are you doing? Did the nap help?”
I stretch and rub my eyes. “Why are you up? You need to be resting.”
The soft smile on his lips makes my chest ache. “I rested. Now I’m taking care of you.”
I really like the idea of him taking care of me, but god knows what we’re doing. I mean…everyone knows about us, and he seems okay with it. It’s way too early for any kind ofwhat are weconversation, but I’m—we’re—already in the middle of something important.
And suddenly I’m shy, like maybe his gaze is too intense for me.
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” I say, playing with a loose thread on the duvet.
“Is that so?” he says, setting the plate down on the bed. I adjust to a cross-legged position, and he follows suit, facing me. Grabbing my knee, he continues. “You didn’t just suffer an attack on your family’s home? You didn’t just almost lose your parents? And don’t think I haven’t seen you favoring that ankle.”
It’s true. When Thane held me back from going inside the house, I turned my ankle trying to get away from him. Didn’t feel it until hours later.
“Fine. My ankle has seen better days,” I say, hesitating. “And so has my head.”
He gestures to the milk and cookies, and suddenly they look like the perfect thing to eat when everything’s been thrown into chaos.
“Thank you,” I say, dunking the chocolate chip goodness in my milk for as long as possible. Some of it drops off into the milk, but I don’t care. It’s the perfect balance of soft and crunch and chocolate.
Omar watches me for several minutes, a bemused smile on his face.
“Why do you dunk your cookies for so long?”
I shrug. “Because I like to get as much milk in them as possible. Also, it’s a fun little competition with myself to see how long I can go without it breaking off.”
He gestures to the chunks of cookie floating around the bottom of the glass. “You seem to be losing that competition.”
