“This is technically your fault,” he says nonchalantly, “since you ground your ass against me like a pole dancer last night.”
I gasp and a throw pillow at him. “Take it back.”
He laughs while easily dodging the terrible throw. “I said what I said, baby.” He clips Goose’s collar onto his leash. “I’ll be back in a few.”
As the door snicks shut behind him, I flop back onto the couch and sigh. I’m going to need more than a few to get my libido in check. It’s very rare that I fall asleep on the couch. I blame the concussion and how surprisingly snuggly Cole’s muscular body is. He wouldn’t let me turn on a movie because “watching television after a hit to the head is breaking the cardinal rule of having a concussion,” so we spent the night giving one another scene-by-scene breakdowns of our top sports movies. I started off strong withShe’s the Man,Bend it Like Beckham,andStick It—all phenomenal—before Cole butted in with a very long-winded description ofMiracle.It must have been during his recap ofThe Mighty Ducksthat I fell asleep.
I make two cups of coffee in my very high-end Keurig and am adding a splash of milk to mine when Cole and Goose make their way back inside.
With an appreciative groan, Cole wraps his large hands around the steaming mug. “Thank you.”
“Mm-hmm. What’s on your agenda for the day? Did sleeping in put you behind schedule?”
“Nah. I’ll probably go on a run with Goose and then rest and read about aliens for the rest of the day.” He throws me a smirk over the top of his mug, which, embarrassingly, saysBuy Me a Book and Call Me a Good Girl. “What about you?”
“I, um…” Heat creeps up into my cheeks. “I actually have a creative writing class this afternoon.”
I expect him to be pleasantly surprised. Instead, he responds with a look of horror. “You can’t go to a writing class today. You’re concussed.”
Laughter bubbles up and escapes me. “I saidwritingclass, Cole, notgymnasticsclass.”
“Dr. Greenbaum said to take it easy,” he continues, tapping his fingers against his ceramic mug at an increasingly aggressive pace. “That means physicallyandmentally.”
Poking my tongue into my cheek, I inhale a long breath. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not taking the SAT, isn’t it?”
“I really don’t think you should go.”
I rear back, clutching my coffee tighter. “And I really think you should mind your own business.”
He doesn’t back down. In fact, he stands taller. “I’ve had plenty of concussions and?—”
“Great. Good for you. Congrats. I’ve had plenty of practice taking care of myself. If I didn’t feel good or was experiencing any lingering symptoms, I wouldn’t go.”
He places his mug on the counter with forced gentleness and approaches me slowly, like I’m a wild animal and he’s at risk of being attacked if he makes one wrong move. “I know that, Maya. I wasn’t insinuating that you can’t take care of yourself.” He drops his head and roughs a hand through his messy hair. “I’m just worried and want to make sure you’re not overdoing it, okay? But if you think you can go, then you should go.”
I pull my shoulders back. “I am going.”
He sighs and rubs his brow. “I’m trying to apologize here, bean.”
“There’s technically been no apology.”
Lips quirking up, he places his hands on my hips and rests his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” I nod. “And I’m sorry for getting defensive.”
“It’s kind of hot when you get all aggressive like that.”
I roll my eyes. “Today’s class is an introductory more than anything. I won’t be mentally exerting myself too much.”
He nods, though based on his frown, he’s only slightly mollified by this information. It’s weird to have someone looking out for me. To be challenged by this man because he’s worried. To not be the recipient of an eye roll when I dig my feet in. To be met with a valid argument rather than be labeled as dramatic. It’s uncomfortable. Like trying on a new cut of jeans that I swore would never look good on me, only to find that they’re not as bad as I expected. In fact, the jeans make me look kick-ass.
“What’re you thinking about?” Cole murmurs.
I look up at him through my lashes.
He’s beautiful. Breathtakingly, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. And he’s here. In my kitchen. Drinking coffee out of an embarrassing mug. Making sure I’m okay.Nope. Not going to cry.How pathetic would that be? Someone outside of my siblings and Kennedy does a decent thing by showing care and affection, and I get all emotional?
“That I’m really hungry,” I half lie. “And I want toast.”
