“I love you so much,” she whispers against my ear. “I would die without you.”
She wouldn’t. We both know she wouldn’t. I probably would, but she’s too strong to die of a broken heart. Still, it feels good to hear her say the words, even if they make my chest ache. The thought of being without her is insurmountable. I shut my eyes and focus so I don’t hurt her by tightening my grip on her, but it’s what I want to do. I want to mold her to me. I want to make her entire being a part of me so I never have to live a moment without her.
“Fuck, Lyla James.” I breathe out.
“I need to rebandage your hands,” she says when she tries to pull away and I don’t let her.
I let her go, only because I know she’ll fight me on it if I don’t let her do this. She holds one of my hands and begins unwrapping the bandage gently, slowing down even more when she reaches the wounds. I really fucked myself up this time. I’ve never been an enforcer, so I don’t get into a lot of fights. At least, I didn’t until I played in Florida and was always angry. On the ice, it’s never personal. With Jameson, it was too personal.
“Are you in pain anywhere else?” she asks, her concerned eyes snapping to mine for a moment. “Your ribs are a little bruised, but you didn’t complain about it in the shower.”
“You bathed me?”
Her lips twitch. “Yep.”
Fuck. She bathed me and I don’t even remember?“I’m probably going to need a lot of help bathing for the next couple of days.”
“Really?” She laughs, and her lips pull into one of those incredible smiles of hers.
“Really.” I yank my hand from hers, the bandage hanging off as I cup her face and kiss her. “Thank you.”
She blinks, her brows rising with my words, and I wonder if she thinks I’m an ungrateful fuck. I’ve thanked her in the past. . .right? Damn, maybe I haven’t. I should probably start doing that every day she’s with me.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she says. “I should be the one thanking you.”
The grip in my chest loosens and I smile at her. “You never have to thank me for protecting you. That’s my job.”
“Your job?” Her lips quirk as she goes back to the bandage on my right hand. “What’s the job title exactly?”
“Husband.”
At this, she smiles — my smile — and meets my eyes. Fuck. How the hell did I get this lucky?
“Husband,” she repeats, still smiling as she starts cleaning my knuckles with antiseptic wipes. “What else is in this job description? Definitely laundry.”
I laugh. “Laundry, sometimes cooking even though I’ll need recipes, taking out the trash, pumping gas in your car. . .”
“I can pump my own gas.” She laughs, shaking her head.
“I know you can, but from now on, I’m going to.”
Her eyes flick to mine and she sets my hand down gently on her lap. “What else?” she asks, genuinely intrigued now.
“Orgasms.”
She smiles wide again. “I guess you’re hired.”
“You want me to try out for the position?” I ask, feeling my body heat instantly.
She bites the side of her lip, her eyes burning as she looks at me, but she shakes her head. “I need to finish up here.”
“It’s a standing offer,” I say, and her eyes darken even more.
How the hell does she expect me to sit in bed with her and not fuck her? It’s an impossibility. I try to think back, but can’t pinpoint the exact moment I started feeling this way. It doesn’t matter. The feeling’s here to stay and I don’t think I can sit here and not fuck her. I try to distract myself by looking at her hands, but her ring catches my attention and I want to fuck her all over again. Jesus. I stare at the oversized Fairview Blaze sweatshirt she’s wearing, but now I want to know whether or not she’s naked underneath it. I exhale heavily and look toward the bathroom.
“What’s wrong?” Her hands stop moving.
“I’m trying to distract myself so I don’t fuck you in the middle of this.”
