Grizz
I wait outside the door the entire twenty-six minutes she’s in the bathroom. It’s not so much thinking she isn’t safe, as it is showing her that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere—that I’ll be here whenever she needs me. Always. No matter what.
Even if I should be at the club right now.
I could be, and she wouldn’t say anything about me leaving, but I don’t want to be.
She gives me a knowing smile as she walks into the bedroom, the navy blue towel wrapped around her head. The grey T-shirt has a few wet spots on it, and her sweatpants look a size too big, meaning they must be comfortable as hell.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes and laughs.
I stand outside the bedroom, not wanting to hover. I mean, I do want to hover, but I don’t want to overwhelm her.
“Breakfast is done when you’re ready to eat.”
“I’m so ready,” she says, dropping her dirty clothes into the hamper. “I’m starving.”
She follows me into the kitchen, where I pull two plates from the warmer and put them on the small table.
“You haven’t eaten yet?” she asks, taking a seat.
“I wanted to wait for you. I did have coffee and a banana though. Oh, and I stole a piece of toast from Tommy, which he slapped me for.”
Laughing, she takes the fork I hand her.
“Well deserved. Don’t mess with people’s food,” she says seriously.
“Hopefully it tastes okay,” I say.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“What do you want to drink? Coffee, tea, juice?”
“Coffee would be great.”
“Of course. How do you like it?” I open the fridge. “We have half and half—”
“Is it decaf?”
I glance at her over my shoulder. “Decaf?”
“The coffee,” she says softly, seeming almost shy or embarrassed. “I’m not supposed to have a lot of caffeine, so I’d rather have none. If that’s okay—”
“Anything you want is okay, Angel. I’ll make you all the decaf coffee you want.” Her smile is so bright my knees almost give out. Then I turn back to the fridge and continue where I left off. “We have that flavored creamer stuff. There’s French vanilla and chocolate caramel something.” I chuckle.
“Chocolate caramel something,” she says.
I pull it out of the fridge and make her a cup of coffee. When I bring it to her, she’s already mostly done, which is a good sign.
“Your food must be cold by now,” she says.
“I don’t mind. I’m not picky.” I take a seat, pick up my fork and start to eat. It’s not exactly cold, but not quite warm.
When she finishes, she moves to stand, but I jump up.
“No, no, I can—” And then I start coughing on my food because I was mid-swallow. After coughing to the point I am seeing spots, she comes back into view and is watching me with anI told you so look.
