“You decent?” Bones asked from the other side of the door. “Because I’m coming in.”
Flashes of him spurning my advances last night played through my mind, heating my cheeks. Fairly certain I’d made a fool out of myself in front of my crush, and never wanted to see him again, I replied, “Nope. Totally naked in here.”
“Then put on some clothes,” he said, adding to my humiliation. That was definitely not one of the things I wanted him to say to me.
“Or you could go away,” I suggested.
“Not happening. You dressed yet?”
Bones was stubborn as hell, but so was I. The idea of getting into a pissing contest with him about whether he should leave sounded like a lot of fun, but I was trying to appear mature and womanly so he’d stop treating me like a kid and start trying to get in my pants.
“I made coffee,” he said. “And picked up breakfast.”
My woozy stomach didn’t seem too sure about breakfast, but my pounding head thought coffee sounded fabulous.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I replied. Throwing back my covers, I realized I was mostly dressed. No bra, but the jeans and T-shirt I’d worn last night were still on. I had no memory of how I’d gotten into bed, but Bones had apparently been a complete gentleman.
Dammit.
I eyed the bra on top of my dresser, but quickly dismissed it. If he insisted on keeping his big, strong hands to himself, I intended to make it as hard on him as possible.
Or to make him as hard as possible. That idea had serious potential.
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and ran a brush through my hair and a toothbrush over my teeth until the woman in the mirror didn’t look like a zombified crackhead. Then I slipped out of my room to see what Bones was doing in my apartment. He was standing by the coffee pot with a cup to his lips. He had an inch-long gash just beneath his right eye and he looked like he’d gotten less sleep than I had. His gaze drifted down to my boobs for a second before he caught himself and held out a second cup in my direction.
Giving myself a pat on the back for leaving off the bra, I puffed out my chest a little and accepted the cup, mumbling my thanks. My gaze raked over his muscular arms and the tank top barely hiding his well-defined chest. A bruise was forming on his right shoulder, and his knuckles were all busted up.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“Work,” he replied.
‘Work’ was code for ‘don’t ask’ because he wouldn’t tell me shit. It was infuriating how many things fell under the ‘work’ category with Bones. Regardless, I stepped closer to get a good look at the gash on his face. “That needs stitches.”
He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”
“It’ll scar.”
“Probably.” He set his cup down and unfolded the top of a big paper bag on the countertop, releasing yummy food smells. “Figured you’d be hungover, so I got omelets, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and pancakes.”
He apparently didn’t want to talk about his scar and intended to use food to deflect. My stomach growled, and although the thought of gobbling up more carbs didn’t appeal to me, I reasoned that the omelet might do me some good.
Bones carried the bag to the coffee table and laid out the containers. He loaded a paper plate full of food and passed it to me before doing the same for himself. Staring at more food than I usually ate in a week, I started to object but he cut me off.
“Eat. You’ll need the calories.”
“I will?” I asked.
“Yeah. Angel can’t leave Markie yet, and I need a workout partner. We’re gonna hit the gym, then I’m gonna take you to work. Your shift begins at three.”
Bones started shoveling food in his mouth, giving me the chance to mull over the fact he’d gotten me my job back, even though I asked him not to. I felt simultaneously grateful and annoyed. But mostly annoyed. How was he going to see me as a sexy, independent woman if he was always swooping in to save the day?
“Thanks for working things out with my boss, but I can take the bus to—”
“Nope,” he cut me off.
“What do you mean ‘nope’?” I asked.
He gestured at my plate with his fork. “Eat, Ari.”
