Page 86 of Knot By Design
I grab a small bucket from the bathroom, placing it next to the bed just in case, then stand, brushing my hands together.
“I’ll be downstairs,” I tell her softly. “Please don’t throw up on yourself, alright?”
She just grunts in reply, eyes closing again, and I can’t help but smile.
My chest eases in a way I didn’t expect. Taking care of her like this, even through the mess and the chaos, doesn’t feel like a chore. Not at all.
I make my way downstairs, the apartment suddenly calm, the only sound the faint hum of the washing machine.
I plate a few pork chops for myself, make a side of sautéed vegetables, and then place extras in a container for her, tucking them into the fridge for when she wakes.
The routine is simple, mechanical almost, but it feels good. Feels like I’m doing something right in a night that’s been anything but.
I glance at the living room, catching a glimpse of the green couch and the flowers still dusted with snowflakes from earlier. I imagine her waking up, groggy but hungry, and the thought makes a small, private smile creep across my face.
I’ll get her more food tomorrow, maybe even breakfast, and I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. She’s not my responsibility, technically, but she might as well be. And right now, I don’t mind that one bit.
I hear a soft snore from upstairs, a reminder that she’s still asleep despite the havoc she unleashed. The sound makes something in me ache, that soft vulnerability she’s letting me witness.
I bite the inside of my cheek, turning back to my own plate, chewing slowly. I’ll sit here, eat, and let the apartment’s quiet stretch.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Norah
I wakeup to a dull pounding at the back of my skull, every movement sending sparks of pain shooting through my temples.
My eyes flutter open, blurry at first, and I blink against the morning light sneaking in through the blinds. The bed feels too cold and too big, the sheets clinging awkwardly to me, and then my gaze catches the shape at the foot of the bed.
Holy shit.
There’s a man here. Shirtless. Jeans. Muscles I’ve never actually seen in the flesh, broad shoulders, arms strong enough to make me feel like a child.
Dark hair messy across his forehead, a beard I just want to touch, a scent of pine lingering in the air. And me… me?
Naked except for my panties. My heart does that ridiculous flip that makes me feel like I might combust.
Then he’s waking up.
I scramble for the comforter, wrapping it around my chest, panicked and confused. My head throbs, and the room spins a little as I try to process how the hell this is happening.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, voice hoarse, still halfway asleep. “Did we… did we sleep together?”
Ryker looks startled, rubbing a hand through his hair. “No. No, we didn’t.”
I glance down at myself, mortified. “Then… why am I naked?”
“You took off your clothes in the middle of the night,” he says casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You were hot.”
I blink, trying to remember. My stomach tightens. My thighs feel uncomfortably warm. The sight of him—shirtless and muscled—twists something inside me, and I immediately hate the slickness I feel.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Ryker…” I whisper, voice trembling.
He sits on the edge of the bed now, dark eyes soft, still looking a little sleepy. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, though my brain is struggling to make sense of anything. “I… I don’t remember anything.”
