I’d like my arm back, but sure. There are perfectly good pillows she could use instead of my arm, butsure.
I turn onto my side as carefully as I can, tucking a pillow under my neck, and Motor huffs as I disturb him.
“I only have enough patience for one of you,” I whisper angrily.
Motor huffs again.
I close my eyes, exhaling. Ella’s hair is fanned over the pillow, tickling my face, and I’m so close to losing my damn temper. This is why I never stay over at women’s houses. They’re like hot water bottles with hair.
I move her hair away, and she takes a deep breath, shifting back and into me. My hand freezes, hovering over her, unsure what to do. Her back is now almost completely against my chest, and so is her body heat, and I wish I’d spooned the dog instead.
Resting my hand on my side, I lie quietly, unable to sleep with her this close, so I watch the steady rising and falling of her shoulders and think about Asher.
It never made sense to me how he fell for this woman. We’d both had the same stance on love—romantic lovecouldn’t exist. Not like it did in movies, anyway. Love at first sight seemed fucking ridiculous. There would always come a time when the person you loved would say or do something that would break your trust and then what? You start all over again with someone else? Why?
But for some reason, Asher Flynn met Ella Gibson and decided she was worth it. He saw through her flaws, and she has a fuck ton of them, and threw out the rule book. I can’t imagine a person ever having a list of pros long enough to take that kind of risk.
I could list ten things right now that I hate about Ella with remarkable ease. And her fucking body temperature is slotting into the top three.
But I promised my brother that we’d protect her, and him being gone doesn’t mean I’ll break that promise.
I don’t know how your falling in love became my issue, Asher, but I’m pissed about it.
I smell coffee.Bacon. Food, glorious fucking food that didn’t come from a drive-thru. I open my eyes. I’m alone in the bed, not even Motor by my side, but I guess the dog will be wherever the bacon is.
I get up, use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and splash cold water on my face.
Ella is downstairs frying bacon. Too much bacon. Four plates of fried meat line the kitchen counters, along with sausages, eggs, and toast.
Who the fuck else is coming to breakfast?
She jumps when she sees me. “Oh! Sorry. I forget how tall you are. You’re like a tree. Are you hungry?”
I’m not sure which to address first: the insult or the offer of food.
“Yes.” I sit. “Are you expecting a hundred guests? What the fuck is with all this?”
“I cook when I panic,” she says, shaking her hands out. She pours me a coffee and dishes up a plate before placing it before me.
“Why are you panicking?” I ask, shoveling the food in my mouth. Holy God, this is good.
Ella sits beside me. “Well, I woke up this morning with my dead boyfriend’s brother in my bed, who also happens to be an assassin on the run from my dad. Panic stations, please!”
God, she really is annoying.
“I said we’ll deal with it, and we will.”
“Right,” she says, nodding. She watches me eat.
I sigh. “What?”
“When will we deal with it?” She edges her chair closer to me. “And what does ‘deal with it’ mean?”
“I told you,” I say. “Safe place and—” I pause. “Is that OJ?”
She glances at the counter and hops up, pouring me a glass of juice, and I drink it. God, fucking orange juice and breakfast. This is heaven.
“Keep going,” she says, returning to her seat and drumming her hands on the table. I press my hand on top of both of hers.
