CHAPTER FOUR
Objects in the room come into focus as I open my eyes, but my dream lingers right on the edge of my consciousness. The image of Ryland’s flexed muscles as he carried me up four flights of stairs last night fades as I wake up more.
I’m groggy from the remnants of the pain pill, but I definitely remember Ryland didn’t carry me up any stairs. There were no muscles involved. There’s no reason for me to be dreaming about such ridiculous crap.
Glass clatters around in my kitchen and I tense up on high alert. Who in the hell is in my place? I try to move my legs off the bed, but they’re stiff and my crutches are nowhere to be seen. I’m a sitting duck for whoever’s out there mauling through my things.
“Time to wake up, Marissa.”
Ryland? Why in the hell is he here?
I stay silent and consider the option of pretending I’m asleep. Ryland’s head peeks around the bedroom door before I have time to adjust myself back on the bed. His smile falters into a tight-lipped frown.
“You didn’t change your clothes.” His eyes glide up and down my body, his lopsided smile back and growing. He’s dressed similarly to last night but in different colors. Today’s gym shorts are green and shimmer each time the light catches them. A plain white shirt does a horrible job covering his chest, his defined pecs available for my perusal.
“Holy shit!” I grip the two pieces of my button down shirt and try to wrap it back around myself to cover up my exposed bra. I tried to change last night, but the pills knocked me out before I made it to more than the buttons.
“Don’t worry, Kitten. I’ve seen a bra or two.” He walks away from the doorway until I can’t see him any longer. “I brought breakfast.”
He’s unnaturally upbeat for whatever time of the morning it is. I let my shirt fall open again and search for my phone, finding it in my purse with a little battery left. At least this worked out in my favor today.
“Don’t call me kitten.” I yell my demand toward the hallway, but I know he heard me because his responding laugh makes it to me fine.
One look at the phone display and I sigh. “Shit.”
It’s 8:30 a.m. There’s no way I’ll be able to make it in time for brunch by nine. When we allowed Aspen to move our meeting location to Cosmo's — so she could stay warm — none of us considered the logistics of getting to the other side of the city. I scan the room to find my damn crutches in case they miraculously turned up since the last time I looked.
“Everything okay?” Ryland asks walking in my room without warning again.
I grab at my shirt and pull the two pieces together, giving him my best annoyed look.
He chuckles and I narrow my eyes more. “Still nothing I haven’t already seen, Marissa. Now hurry up before your food gets cold.”
“I can’t find my crutches.” My voice emits more whine than a twenty-five-year-old should, but I can’t bother to care right now.
“Come on. I’ll help you.” He walks to the dark wooden dresser that came with the apartment and digs through my pajama drawer again as if he owns it. Well, I guess he kind of does, but not the clothes in it.
Ryland pulls out a few pieces, none meeting his approval, and shoves them back in the drawer with no regard for my folding. Eventually he holds up the My Little Pony pants and a pink t-shirt to match. If my foot hadn’t started to throb again, I’d be more impressed. In a hurry for another pain pill, I nod my head in approval.
Together we walk to the bathroom, his arm wrapped around my middle like last night. His fingers press into my side, and I enjoy the heat from where our bodies align more than I’ll admit. I’m sure it’s remnants from the pain or reverse Florence Nightingale Syndrome. I’d be languishing on the stairs if it wasn’t for his help. My feelings relate to appreciation. That’s all.
He sits me on the toilet and lowers himself until he’s resting on his heels. His hand rubs the wrapping on my foot in slow movements that are not sexual in nature. It’d be crazy of me to find his attention to my injury sexy, so I think of the sales reports I'll need to catch up on at work. It doesn’t work, and my thoughts soon flutter back to the feel of his hands on my covered skin.
“The swelling’s gone down. That’s good. Do you think the wrap will fit through your pant leg?” He stands and towers over me.
I refuse to make eye contact. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Wow. I’ve used that lie a ton over the last few days. I’m not sure, but my own stubborn pride won’t let me admit that to him.
He chuckles like he sees through my false bravado, which is annoying. Everything about Ryland Bates annoys me.
“Well, holler if you need help. I’ll be right outside.” He leaves the pink pajamas on the counter and closes the bathroom door behind him.
It takes a few minutes, okay like ten, but I finish my morning business and get myself dressed with minor cursing. The small bathroom allowed me to hobble from one area to another with limited problems. I only hit my foot on the vanity twice.
I open the bathroom door and he’s right there. Inches from me. Waiting. It’s a bit unnerving, but also endearing. Has a guy ever been so attentive? Last year I had the flu and missed four days of work. Cody brought me a bottle of Nyquil and six cans of chicken noodle soup. He left with excuses about being busy at work and how he couldn’t afford to get sick.Am I really giving Ryland points for breaking into my apartment this morning?
I shake my head to clear my thoughts while Ryland walks me to the couch and places me on one side. In front of us on top of a light wooden coffee table sits a plate of bagels with small cups of cream cheese next to them. There’s an Annie’s Café & Bookstore logo on the bag behind them, a shop on the first floor of our building.
The table they’re placed on concerns me the most. A coffee table I’m positive wasn’t here last night, but I’ll get to that.
