“And how you said, and I quote, ‘all Americans are loud, annoying, and obnoxious? And that they think the world revolves around them?’”
“Where is this going, Drake?”
“I’m just checking to see if your roadside rescue fits that description, or are you about to be knee-deep in some good ole American p—”
“Drake, chill!” I cut him off, sharp.
“Pie!” he laughs. “I was gonna say American pie, Eli. Get your mind out the gutter, man.”
“You are an American pielie,” I mutter, grabbing the shirt and heading back down the hallway.
“So, it’s just for the night?” he presses. “And you’re telling me you’re not even alittletempted to take out some pent-up frustration on her? Especially after seeing Vanessa tonight?”
I stop walking, jaw tight.
“Nope. Not doing this,” I say, turning toward Max’s room. “Goodbye, Drake. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“No you won’t.”
I hang up. Because he's right. I absolutely won’t be calling him.
By the time I return, she’s examining the wall of photos in the bedroom.
“You take these?” she asks, pointing to the framed nature shots—wild animals, running rivers, sunrises so vivid they feel unreal.
“Most of them. The sunsets are my mom’s. She stays in this room when she visits. I like keeping her work up.”
“That’s really sweet,” she says, and she actually means it.
I hand her the flannel. “It’s the softest I could find.”
She clutches it like it’s gold. “Thank you for indulging me, Bear.”
“Whatever.” I gesture to the nightstand. “There’s an intercom on the phone. Yellow button connects to me if you need anything.”
“Fancy.”
“It’s alright. Towels and robes are in the bathroom along with extra toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet.” I place a bottle of water on the dresser. “In case you get thirsty.”
She hesitates, then says, “Thank you for this. I know this is…kind of crazy. And I haven’t been the easiest to deal with—”
“Understatement of the century.”
She smiles. “So again, thank you.”
I nod. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”
She tilts her head, lips curling into that knowing little smirk. “You sound suspiciously like a man with a kink for taking care of women.”
The words disarm me instantly. Because, fuck. I do.
I absolutely have a thing for taking care of someone once I set my sights on them. For being the place they land. The one who handles things so they don’t have to.
I like making them feel safe.
For however long they choose to stay.
“My mother raised me right,” is all I say, turning toward the door and leaving quickly before she can catch the heat climbing up my neck.
