While he's rolled away, I slip into the briefs he handed me, and then duck into the bathroom to dampen a washcloth with cold water. He's on his back when I return, and watches me carefully as I step up to his side of the bed and sit down by his head, wiping the sweat from his brow.
I tell myself I'll leave when he's asleep again. That I'll crash on the couch. That I can walk away and be totally fine with that. But something in me refuses to go, even when his breathing evens out and his heart rate slows. Even when his soft snores fill the room around me, I can't lay him back on his pillow and just walk away.
I'll sort out why I feel the need to stay later. Right now, I'm trying not to feel a certain type of way when he puts his head in my lap and wraps those strong, toned biceps around my waist, snuggling into my stomach.
Well, if you can't beat them, join them.I lean my head back on the headboard and close my eyes. I might not sleep, but at least I can rest for a moment.
chapter sixteen
Kai
When I wake up,three things are certain. First off, my head is pounding, but at least it's still there. Second, my stomach feels empty, but it's no longer trying to revolt. In fact, I think I want food. Lastly, my pillow doesn't feel like it should.
In fact, it feels like it'smoving.
I pull back just a fraction, peeking out from under my lashes at what sits in my headspace. And what I find surprises me.
"You stayed."
Denali's sitting against my headboard, and my arms are wrapped around her waist, holding her in place as I apparently use her as a pillow. She's leaned her head back and is currently grimacing from what is no doubt about to be an agonizing amount of neck pain when she straightens back up.
I feel bad for her, but I'm touched that she didn't leave me last night.
As she registers that I spoke, she jerks awake, hissing at the instant crick in her neck from the position change. "Ah,fuck."Her hand shoots up to rub at the back of her neck, and I realize it must've been on my shoulder, because that part of me feels strangely cool now.
"Don't move so fast," I mutter, rolling onto my back so I can release her and put my hands on my chest, folded, waiting to see what she'll do next. "There's ibuprofen in the drawer next to the bed. Take some, they'll help."
She leans over, groaning, and liberates my well-loved bottle of meds, shaking a few out into her hand before she eyes me, then the bottle, and then swallows them dry.
"Oh, god, you're insane," I mumble, remembering the one time I tried that, how it felt.
Horrible. It was horrible.
"Nothing to drink, and I'm currently serving as someone's personal pillow, so I can't go get anything," she points out, and man, there's no more effective way she could have basically managed to get me off her lap.
Her movements are slow as she shifts on the edge of the bed and throws her legs over the side, preparing to stand. Apparently, I'm heavier than I thought I was, though, because she stands up and her legs give out, no doubt asleep from the fact that until a minute ago, she had a solid hundred and thirty five pounds of man lying on them.
I can't help but laugh when she looks at me, rolls her eyes, and flops down on her back, groaning with her arms starfished outto the sides. "Ugh, well, apparently I've forgotten how walking works."
Our eyes meet as she turns her head and cusses again, and though I'm sympathetic to her plight, I'm still reeling from the fact that she could have just left me here last night and gone home, and instead, she remained. She didn't walk away when it got rough. I think at one point in time, I barfed on her.
Would explain why she's wearing my clothes.
Denali is wearing my clothes. And likely nothing else.
I wonder, albeit briefly, if she put her own underthings on beneath my briefs and shirt, and then catch msyelf staring ahole into her chest in the hopes that I can confirm or deny the presence of a bra there.
I have to practically shake myself for the stupid act. I shouldn't be ogling my assistant. It's not a good idea. But lately, I've been thinking a lot about her. And last night, when I was with the girl from the interview, all I could think about was the way she looked soangrywhen she stormed off and left me there at the restaurant. How hurt she looked, beneath the anger.
I wanted to go after her.
"Here, come back up here on the soft bed," I plead, offering her a hand. "I'll help you."
It's like she wakes up in real time now, her eyes open wide as she registers how alert and cooperative I am. "Oh, shit, how are you feeling?"
I flex my limbs, wiggle my toes, take stock of lingering damage. "I feel . . . not my best, but certainly not as bad as last night."
She rolls over onto her stomach, pushing up onto her hands and knees. I have to remind my body I'm still recovering from being drugged as the sight of her crawling in my direction does things to me south of my waistline. "What do you remember?"
