But before I can protest, he waves me over.
“Amelia, come here,” he commands, his tone doing things to me.
Ugh, dammit.
Curious and a tad annoyed by his audacity, I walk over. He grabs my right wrist, pulling my smartwatch close to the laptop, which promptly unlocks.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.
“Hey, I could have just hacked my way into it, but no, I waited patiently until you were done to get your permission, like Oliver asked me to,” he retorts.
My laugh is sarcastic as I glance at Oliver, who seems to shrink at the mention of his name. “You call this permission?”
“Well, I didn’t just barge my way into it, did I? Now, hush, I’m working,” Grey dismisses me, his focus already shifting back to the laptop.
He connects Jamie’s hardware and begins initiating it. The irritation that flared up seconds ago melts away.
Jamie’s going to be back.
I wonder if I could list him as my emergency contact.
It was quite embarrassing to admit to the nurse who made me fill out their form that I didn’t have anyone to put there.
The pity in her eyes said it all.
Misha saunters over and places his hands on my shoulders, steering me toward the couch. “Grey can’t stand people looking over his shoulder while he works.”
Of course, Mr. Donovan has diva airs.
“He’s working onmylaptop,” I protest weakly because, let’s be honest, I’m relieved he’s putting Jamie back where he belongs, even if I could have done this myself.
“That’s right, and we’re going to chill a little while he does,” Misha declares, settling me between himself and Oliver on the couch.
Sitting there, sandwiched between them, I can’t help but feel a weird mix of comfort and exasperation. They’ve inserted themselves into my life and space as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe it is, for now.
Not being alone, especially after such a health scare, is what I’ve always wanted. But it seems I’m so damaged that whensomeone tries to give me what I want, I have no fucking idea how to respond.
Pulling up my feet and wrapping my arms around my knees, I catch Oliver glancing at my socks, a faint smile touching his lips. He shifts, crossing his left foot over his knee to show off his own socks adorned with coffee beans and mugs.
“So, books, huh?” he asks softly, his gaze meeting mine.
I rest my cheek on my arms, looking up at him, feeling a flutter in my chest. “So, coffee, huh?” I shoot back with a light chuckle. “Though I already knew that one.” Another smile flickers across his lips as he looks down at his socks. “Do you want one?”
Shit, I’m such a bad host.
Well, I have never really practiced before.
“Does anyone want something? I have coffee, tea, or water,” I blurt out, cringing at the sparseness of my offerings.
I think I might have some soda somewhere.
I start to rise, but Misha grabs my forearm and tugs me back down to the couch. The motion brings me closer to him than before, so I scoot a little to the other side, only to find that now I’m very close to Oliver.
Fuck.
“It’s fine, we don’t need anything. And if we do, we can get it ourselves. We have working hands and legs. You need to rest,” Misha states as he settles deeper into my couch, his arm stretched out along the back as he tugs gently at my braid.
