Page 16 of Parting Shot

“How do I deserve that?”

“Because it’s raining outside and we’re warm in here, and I sat in bed and watched a movie while you slept beside me. It was very nice.”

“Man, you are easy to please.”

“Not normally,” he said gruffly.

I rolled over into his lap, wrapped my arm around his hip, and used him for a pillow as I focused my eyes on the huge flat screen in front of me. “CNN? Really?”

His fingers curled languidly through my hair. “One must stay apprised, Detective.”

“At whatever the hell time it is on a Thursday night?”

“Always.”

“Why don’t you watch Lord of the Rings or something?”

He grunted.

“Come on. Viggo’s hot.”

“You think?”

“You don’t?”

“I prefer Sean Bean.”

“Yeah?”

The rumbling purr made me clutch him tighter. “Big men do it for me.”

It was a good answer. “Nice.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually.”

“Good,” he said, twisting his hand in my thick hair. “Eat and then take a shower and lie back down with me.”

“How is that any fun for you?”

“No one ever lets me take care of them because they don’t think I can. If you’d let me, that would be good.”

Why would I argue? I lifted up until we were eye to eye and stared. He held my gaze, and there we were, looking at each other for long minutes, seemingly content to do so, until I leaned forward and kissed him.

“What’d you get me to eat?”

He wrapped his arms around my neck and squeezed tight. It was really nice, just to be held, just to be wanted.

The burger he’d ordered was enormous. It was covered in onion rings, barbecue sauce, and blue cheese, as well as Jack. Apparently, it was a Sutter original the chef there only made for him. I had coleslaw and sweet potato fries and a skewer of sautéed mushrooms with a thick chocolate milkshake and a pitcher of ice water to wash it down. Normally, he said, he’d ply me with alcohol, but with a slight concussion, he wasn’t willing to risk it.

After I ate, I needed to be clean, having not showered when I got home from the hospital.

The shower was enormous, and it had a removable head, which made things so much easier. I was sore, so I was careful to wash around the bandage over the stitches. When I was out and looking at my swollen cheek, puffy red eye, and the various scrapes and cuts, I realized I must have looked worse when Aaron saw me earlier.

“What are you looking at?” he asked as he walked into the bathroom behind me.

I faced him, leaning back against the counter, the towel around my hips all I was wearing. “I don’t get you.”