“I already have.” I informed him.
“Your eyes are not my eyes,” he sassed.
“No, but that body is mine, and if I’m satisfied with the job the doctor did, then you will be too.”
He made a face, then saw what I was holding. “You washed my underwear?”
“I washed everything you were wearing, even if most of it is ruined.”I need to get him some new clothes and some space in the closet to hang them.
Haz snatched the boxers from my hand and reached down to slip them over his foot. His face contorted with the bend, and I pulled them from his hand.
“Easy,” I cautioned, crouching to slide them over his feet and up his legs, careful to avoid his injured knee.
“Hold on to me,” I directed, pleased as shit when his arms looped around my shoulders. I lifted, tugging the boxers up, and then carried him back to bed.
“You have a washer and dryer here?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“I do my laundry at the laundromat,” he said. “I didn’t see any laundry here. Is it in your office?”
My office being one of the rooms he’d yet to see.
“It’s in the hallway,” I said, tucking the blankets around him.
His nose wrinkled. “Where?”
“Behind a hidden panel in the wall.”
“I want to see,” he exclaimed, trying to get out of the bed I’d just put him in.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned.
“But the secret door…” he complained.
“You can see it later. Lie back.”
“Can I get this IV out now?”
“No.”
“Tyrant.”
“Brat.”
His stomach growled angrily, the sound taking over the room.
“When’s the last time you ate?” I asked.
“Yesterday.”
“When yesterday?” I pressed.
“Those eggs you made me.”
Irritation punched me. “You haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours?”
“I was busy trying not to get shot!”
