“Five.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“From now on, you owe me a nickel for each additional apology. It’s only fair since they’re completely unnecessary.”
“But—”
He holds up a finger. “Nobuts.Butsearn me a dime. You’re up to fifteen cents already. Yikes.”
I would roll my eyes if not for the vegetables pressed to my face. “Fine.”
“If you want to head up to my room, I’ll get you what you need and meet you in there in a sec.”
“Sure. Thank you.”
He smiles, finally showing off the dimples that have been hiding all night, and I’m instantly hypnotized. “You’re more than welcome.”
Leaving the bathroom, I climb the stairs to Wes’s bedroom. Exhaustion weighs me down, and the bed looks fluffy and amazing, but I avoid it. I collapse in his office chair, staring blankly at the wall. My emotions are strangely numb, my attention centered on the pain in my face.
It’s not long before the hallway floorboards creak with his weight, and then Wes appears in the door, holding up a packaged toothbrush.
“World’s best toothbrush,” he says, tossing it to me. He crosses over to the dresser and combs through the second drawer, pulling out a t-shirt, shorts, and a sweatshirt. He tosses those to me as well. “World’s best pajamas.”
“I don’t think these shorts will fit,” I say skeptically, holding them out in front of me.
“They have a draw string. Maybe you can tie it tight.”
“I’ll try…”
He pulls a bottle of Advil out of his back pocket, rattling it before passing it to me. “Almost forgot the world’s best pills. For the pain and the swelling.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Wes vacates the room to give me privacy, easing the door shut behind him. For a moment, I debate turning the lock, but then my tired mind remembers that I trust Wes.
Getting to my feet, I strip off my sweater, leaving on my bra as I pull Wes’s t-shirt and sweatshirt over my head. They fall to my knees, enormously oversized, but I don’t mind that too much. They’re comfortable, and they smell like Wes.
The shorts, however, are a different story. I slip them up my legs and tie the drawstring as tight as possible, relieved when they stay on my hips. I’m sure I must look absurd, and mymismatched socks only add to the insanity—one white with red stripes, one pink with purple tulips. Too weary to care at this point, I slump back in his office chair, my eyes fixating on the bed again.
It looks cozy—reallycozy—and I wonder if laying on it would calm the adrenaline buzzing through my body. I quickly dismiss the thought.
The soft knock against the door urges me to my feet. “You decent?”
“I’m good,” I say, and Wes peeks his head in. His eyes rake over me from head to toe, his mouth tugging up at the corner like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Don’t laugh. I look ridiculous.”
“You’re like a mini-me.”
“Stop,” I whine.
His eyes narrow in on my socks, and I scrunch my toes. “Laundry day?”
“I was wearing boots. No one saw them.”
Snickering, he pushes the door open further and leans against the frame with his arms crossed. My eyes snag on the way the sculpted muscles of his biceps bunch beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and I wishhecould change into some baggier clothes.
“So, how are you feeling?” he asks, drawing my attention back to his face. “Tired? Ready for bed?”
“I am tired,” I say, “but honestly, I don’t think I could sleep if I tried.” Despite how drained I feel from the night’s events, adrenaline still rushes through me, leaving my body wired.
