When he doesn’t say anything, he simply stares at me, I roll my eyes. “Thank you, Penelope, that’s so very kind of you.”
He grunts.
“Thank you, Penelope, that’s so very kind of you.” I repeat.
He grunts again.
We’re locked in a silent staring competition, waiting for the other to blink.
“Thank you, Penelope, that’s so very kind of you.” I repeat again, leaning on each word slowly.
“Thank you.” He grinds his words out between clenched teeth.
“You’re welcome. Do you need help getting out of bed?”
He snarls at me.
“Okay, okay, I was just asking. Won’t bother to ask if you need a hand washing your ball sack and ass crack.”
He gets out of bed, but doesn’t move, so I step in front of him and sweep my fingers over his not broken cheek. “Please? If you’re nice to me I’ll cuddle and read you a story.”
That makes something flicker across his face.
“And if you’rereallynice I might let you cop a feel before bed.” I lean over and brush a kiss against his cheek. “But not until you go wash that funk off you.” I scrunch up my nose, and he rolls his eyes.
“So dramatic.”
“Says the boy who hasn’t left his bed in days.”
“How do you know?” He pauses and turns his head back to me.
“Because the smell told me so. Now be gone, Satan. Or I’ll make you change your own sheets, too.”
Apollo hooks me up with clean sheets and takes the dirty ones away to get them washed. He looks at me like I’ve walked on water or something. “He hasn’t spoken to anyone or let them in his room for days.”
“None of you have the boobs for the job.” I wink at him, making him laugh again.
“This is true.” He nods, thoughtfully. “I’m worried about him, though. We all are. It’s not like him. When he faces a challenge he usually kicks it in the cojones. This isn’t Tate at all.”
I awkwardly pat the captain of our hockey team on the bicep. “Give him a little time. The trauma’s still fresh, and he’s on the bench for months while you guys get to have all the fun.”
“I know. I just wish I knew how to help.”
Shaking my head, I give him a sympathetic smile. “He doesn’t want anyone’s help. He doesn’t need anyone’s help either. I think he might need to learn some lessons from this injury.” I hold his intense gaze, and he tilts his head.
“Lessons?”
I nod. “There’s more to Tate than hockey. I’m not sure he knows that, or knows what he is without the game. I hope, if nothing else, he realizes that he has so much more to offer than points on a scoreboard.” I shrug, letting my words hang between us for a long moment. “I’m going to go change his sheets and then inflict some snuggles on him. Might not cheer him up but it’ll make me better. And if he’s still dickish, I’ll accidentally smother him with my cleavage.”
Apollo shakes his head. “You can be pretty scary Penelope, you know that?”
Flashing him my best grin, I nod. “I do know that. You wanna help me make his bed?”
He does, and he leaves before Tate comes out of the shower. I’m not prepared for the sight of Tate coming out of a steamed up bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, bare chest, and droplets of water dripping from his hair and body as he walks and towel dries his head.
“You’re drooling, Pitstop.” There’s an air of smug satisfaction to his slurred words.
“And you’re losing weight, Satan. Come over here.” I pat the bed beside me. “Smoothie’s on the bedside cabinet, and trust me, if any of the guys steals one from the fridge you’re going to have some competition on your hands.”
