My hands linger for a moment on her, because something in my brain just quiets when I touch her.
I park in the fire lane and walk her inside. I try to give her space at first, because I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage of the situation, but I stay close behind her and we eventually make it to our room.
She kicks her shoes off and tumbles into bed without removing her uniform. When I come around to see if I can convince her to get a little more comfortable, her eyes are closed, framed by furrowed brows, and her lips are curved into an exaggerated frown. She looks like a grumpy old man. Adorably so.
“What?” she demands after I let a laugh slip.
“You just—you look so angry when you sleep. You always have.”
She huffs and pulls the blankets up even farther. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“Not making fun, I promise. Just glad to see some things haven’t changed.”
“My mom says I’m going to give myself premature wrinkles.”
I perch on the edge of her bed so that she’s curled around me, and I pull the blanket back a little. “Let’s at least get this bow tie off,” I tell her.
With her eyes closed, she makes a half-hearted attempt at unhooking the bow tie, but her fingers still a few times as she falls asleep before stirring slightly and trying again.
There’s this ferocious urge inside me to take care of her. Suddenly, Munchausen by proxy makes just a tiny bit of sense, because I like that she needs me right now.
I am a broken piece of shit.
“Let me.” Gently, I push her hand away and she tilts her chin up to give me access. I unclip the hook and pull the cheap bow tie free, undoing the first two buttons of her shirt while I’m at it.
She starts in on the buttons of her vest, but I take over for her, careful not to touch anything I shouldn’t and trying so damn hard not to imagine what she’s wearing underneath and if it’s a matching set. By the time I’m done, I have only accidentally grazed her breast once and she’s fast asleep. I figure that I’ll leave her be for a little while before I try to convince her to put on some pajamas.
After turning off all the lights except for my small reading lamp, I go across the hall and give Daisy and Briar’s door a knock.
Briar opens the door a moment later, her eyes wide and frantic. She’s wearing an apron with iron-on letters across the chest that spell outSAY CHEESE.
“Nice,” I tell her, and point to the apron.
“I’ve been working on branding,” she says with a dry smirk.
“Ah. You guys have a thermometer? Clover is pretty sick.”
She turns around and sifts through a few drawers on her side and then Daisy’s side. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Daisy has, like, some sort of aesthetically pleasing first aid kit around here somewhere, but she’s out with her hockey player right now. Let me run down the hall and poke the bear to see if he has one.”
“The bear?”
“Our crabby-ass RA.”
“No offense,” I say. “But crabby seems to be your vibe.”
“I prefer a good chaos puppy. Creates a healthy balance.” She tosses her apron on to her bed and makes her way down the hall. “I’m pretty sure Dylan’s only kink is following rules.”
I can’t decide if it would be a good or bad idea to put Briar and Julian in the same room.
When I go back to check on Clover, she’s turned toward my side of the bed, sleeping fitfully with that same frown and furrowed brow.
After unknotting my own bow tie, I sit down beside her and smooth my thumb over her worried brows. Her forehead is warm to the touch, and Briar returns just in time with the thermometer.
“Thanks for poking the bear,” I tell her.
“He was singing ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’ to himself when I knocked, so I’m sure it’s a very busy night for him.” Briar takes a quick glance at the Clover-shaped lump on the bed. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks,” I say. “That’s nice of you.”
