“Mm-hmm.” I wasted no time scooping her into my arms, only to be met with an eye roll.
“My legs still work, you know.” Her words remindedme of what had happened just last night. How she’d tasted and the way her moans still echoed in my mind.
I refused to look down at her as I led us out of the restroom. With this weird shift between us, I couldn’t trust myself not to do something stupid. Like kiss her.
“I’d rather not risk it. I don’t feel like stitching you up again.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m notthatclumsy of a drunk.”
“So youaredrunk,” I teased.
I didn’t have to look to know she was frowning. Judgmental eyes glanced our way as I walked through the bar to the exit, but I ignored all of them. Not even bored low-lifers could take this moment from me.
Maybe carrying the girl who’d tried to kill me a few days ago out of a bar might not be significant to anyone else, but to me, it felt like holding the weight of the world in my arms. The only people who knew about my childhood were Booker and Austin, and now Grace knew a speck of it. Perhaps I’d told her so she didn’t feel alone in her fucked-up past, or maybe I simply needed to finally speak it aloud.
In the end, it didn’t matter. She knew, and I knew, and that only brought us closer when we should’ve been staying far, far apart.
I buckled her into the passenger seat of my truck, pretending like my hand sliding over her thighs was accidental.
Halfway home, her eyes fell shut and her breathing grew deeper. I didn’t mind carrying her inside her house, or tucking her into bed and taking those slippers off her feet. But when she drowsily reached out and wrapped her fingersaround my arm?
The ice age in which my heart had been stuck for nearly the entirety of my life thawed. I’d never been treated so delicately. Like I waswanted.
I told myself that was why I crawled into bed next to her and relaxed when she curled into my side. Why I ran a hand over her hair after she rested her head on my chest. And why I got one of the best nights of sleep, with the weight of my past lifted off my shoulders and her body in my arms.
Chapter 15
Grace
Henley stared at me expectantly from the end of the bed. I’d barely been awake five minutes before he began filling my aching head with a ridiculous plan.
I slid out from under the warm covers, thankful I was at least decent as I immediately headed out of my bedroom and for the kitchen.
Coffee. Nothing would be happening before coffee today.
“An answer would be nice,” Henley nagged, of course following close behind.
I combed a hand through my hair, the unruly black strands likely sticking up at odd angles. I wasn’t a pretty sleeper by any means, but drunk? I was surprised he was even still here after seeing the state I was likely in.
I popped a pod in the machine, setting a cup under the spout. While it warmed, I scooped two spoonfuls of brown sugar into the glass. When I flipped the spoon over, I caught a glimpse of my reflection.
Squinting, I brought the spoon closer to my face.
Is that mascara under my eyes?
I swiped under my waterline, black staining the pad of my finger. The spoon was yanked from my grip, but little did he know, I was done with it. He could stick the utensil up his ass if he liked.
“Grace.”
The machine spurted a few last drops of espresso into the glass, but my patience was nonexistent this morning. I grabbed the cup before it could finish, opened the freezer, scooped a shit ton of ice in it, then popped the glass lid on and shook like my life depended on it. I turned to find Henley staring at me, arms crossed and a broody look on his face.
He couldn’t have woken up too long before me, yet still, he looked immaculate. Thick biceps strained the sleeves of his shirt, hair as messy as always. The man didn’t even have a thicker five-o’clock shadow to show for the long night.
What a lucky asshole.
He seemed unamused by my obnoxious shaking of the espresso and ice, but I knew he had at least one brain cell this morning because he kept his lips sealed.
7:00 a.m. was far too early to hear a man talk.
