“Because you’re you, Drew.”
His eyes open.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
His brows pull together.
He doesn’t understand.
Not yet.
He thinks there needs to be a reason. Some grand explanation. Some checklist of things that make him worthy.
But there isn’t.
There’s just him.
The man who worries about a scared kitten being alone.
The man who's embarrassed when someone takes care of him.
The man who broke into my house looking for a reason to run... and stayed anyway.
I stroke my thumb carefully beneath the scratch on his cheek. “You should drink water.”
He shrugs.
“Callie. Can you get Drew some water?”
“Is he still alive?”She yells.
Drew groans, closing his eyes.
“Barely,”I answer.
“I’m fine,”Drew hollers. “Just fine.”
“Coming right up,” Callie says, turning the music down.
I turn back to him and pick up the first-aid kit. “We’re not done.”
He looks at the supplies, then at me. “With the first aid?”
I just smile.
A second later, Callie appears in the doorway with a glass of water, still grinning like this is the best night of her life.
Her gaze moves over Drew’s scratches.
Then the bandage on his wrist.
Then back to his eyes.
“You know,” she says, handing him the glass, “next time you stalk someone, wear black.”
Drew takes the water with a sigh. “Thank you for the advice.”
