Page 23 of A Little Jaded
After wrapping a towel around me, I open the door and find a neatly folded black T-shirt and black boxers waiting for me on a small side table. It most definitely wasn’t there when I entered the bathroom. Everett must’ve carried it from the family room so the clothes wouldn’t be sitting on the floor while I showered. My lips twitch at his thoughtfulness—or aversion to germs. Regardless, I pick the clothes up, dress, and wrap my wet hair in the towel. When I force myself to take one final look in the mirror, I frown. Yup. There’s definitely a cut along my bottom lip, and I’m more swollen than I expected. Leaning closer to my reflection, I gently touch the wound and wince, letting out a soft, resigned breath.
I can’t believe he hit me. Twice. Then again, maybe I canbelieve it. A tiger doesn’t change his stripes no matter how well he camouflages himself. And damn, he was quite the expert at camouflaging in the beginning.
Sleep, I remind myself. Everything will look better in the morning. It has to.
Tearing my attention from the mirror, I square my shoulders and flick the light off. The floor creaks softly beneath my feet as I tiptoe to the room across the hall and push the bedroom door open. A gray pillowcase is in Everett's hands, and he slips it over the bare pillow on the twin bed.
“I changed the sheets.” He glances at me again and frowns as he sets the pillow on the newly made bed. Rounding the edge of the mattress, he grabs something from his nightstand, offers it to me. When I don’t take the ointment, he untwists the cap and moves closer. Gently, he lifts my head, giving him a better look at my split lip. An undercurrent of frustration heats his icy blue gaze.
“Gonna fuckin’ kill him,” he says under his breath. Squirting a small dab of the ointment on his pointer finger, he spreads it along my cut. As he dabs at my lip, a hiss slips through my clenched teeth.
“Shit. Sorry,” he apologizes.
Sorry.
Up until this point, I was starting to wonder if apologies were even possible coming from the opposite sex. Guess I stand corrected.
I stay quiet and stare at the LAU logo above Everett’s heart on his T-shirt. I can feel his breath against my forehead. Peeking up at him, I confirm my assumption. Yup. He’s close. Really close. Standing over me. Looking sexy as sin with a furrowed brow as he stares at the damage from Drake’s hand.
It’s…strange. Instead of feeling trapped by being so close to him, I feel…protected. Safe, almost. And honestly? I can’t decide whether or not I’m all right with it. With us being this close. With him looking at me like this. With pity, sure, but curiosity, too. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want to imagine it. What it would be like to have someone care. Not that he does. He doesn’t know me. He knows nothing about me. In his eyes, I’m nothing but a victim.
I should remember that.
I let his icy gaze hold mine for one more heartbeat. I clear my throat and drop my chin an inch. It isn’t much, but it’s enough. Enough to remind him he’s still touching me despite having already dabbed on whatever magic medicine he had hiding in his nightstand. As if only now realizing the same thing, he lets me go and steps back.
“Didn’t, uh, didn’t peg you for a twin bed kind of guy,” I note, anxious to change the subject.
He barely looks at the two beds on opposite sides of the room. “I share the room with Griff.”
“Oh.” I frown, confirming both beds are as empty as I initially assumed. “Where’s Griff sleeping?”
“On the couch.”
“I could?—”
“I know,” Everett interrupts. “And Griff knows, too. He doesn’t mind, though. After your phone call, he assumed I’d bring you back here to crash for the night, and I wouldn't want to let you out of my sight.”
I tilt my head in question as I register his comment, convinced I misheard him. “Y-you don’t want to let me out of your sight?”
His attention drops to my lips. “You should get some rest. Do you mind if I sleep in Griff’s bed?”
“This one’s yours?” I point to the bed closer to the window. The one he recently finished remaking.
He nods.
“Did you change Griffin’s sheets, too?”
He nods again.
“You know, you could’ve saved yourself some time and only changed Griff’s.” I pause. “Actually, I should probably still sleep in his bed, and you should sleep in yours. Then you’ll only have to change one set of sheets tomorrow.”
“Just get in the bed,” he orders gruffly.
I don’t move. “Why?”
Squeezing the back of his neck, his frustration palpable, he grumbles, “So you’ll sleep in a stranger’s bed, but you don’t want to borrow their clothes?”
I open my mouth to argue but close it quickly. He makes a good point.