Mal purses his lips, knowing what I mean. “You won’t like it.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t want to piss you off when you’re finally in my bed.”
“You’ve never invited me into your bed.”
That grin comes back, and brings me to life enough to notice Mal’s crouched on the floor, and that he’s wearing a shirt too big to be anyone but Jack’s.
It softens him, wearing his brother’s clothes, and he seems younger without his sharpest edges.
Or maybe it’s my eyes. They hurt. Everything does.
Mal squeezes my hand. “Still with me?”
“I think so.” I pause. Then…fuck it. “This is weird.”
“Which bit?”
“All of it. I’ve never been this messy around someone before.”
“It’s your fucking turn.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Eh.” Mal shrugs. “Will you punch me again if I bring you some food?”
“Again?”
“I deserved it.” Mal lets go of my hand and rises from his crouch with more care than he usually bothers with.
He leaves without elaborating, and without him to distract me it sinks into me harder that I’m in his bed and wearing the same clothes I came home in. Where the fuck are my shoes? Where’s Jack? Where’s Sol? And shit, I have to be at work again soon.
I sit up higher, willing away the headache pressing down on me. Search for my phone before I remember it’s in pieces in the car I drove home with black spots in my vision.
“What are you looking for?”
Mal’s suddenly back. At least, it feels sudden to me.
“My phone.”
“Your phone’s fucked.”
“I know.”
“What happened to it?”
“I threw it.”
“Fair enough.” Mal has his hands behind him. He brings them forward with a bowl in his grip and sets it on the chest of drawers. “It’s in the kitchen if you really want it.”
“I need an alarm.”
“What for?”
“Work.” I swing my legs off the bed and plant my feet on the floor. “I need a fucking shower.”
“Go on then.” Mal’s tone holds the challenge he’s never been afraid to chuck in my face.
