I shake out a few pills into my palm and grab the water.
“No, I’m mad at myself. “
I swallow quickly and ask, “Why?”
“Because I got you hurt. I’m supposed to be helping you, and instead I’m making things worse.”
I put the water aside, and with one well-placed pull, I’ve got her tumbling into my lap. The impact jostles my knees a little bit, but her flustered look is worth it.
“You’ve got a thing for pulling me into your lap, don’t you?”
“Hell yeah, I do.”
I slip a hand up her back and curl it around the nape of her neck, pulling her closer into my chest.
“What are you doing?”
“This morning I had my lesson; now it’s time for yours.”
Her cheeks flush. “A lesson in what exactly?”
Her wide-eyed, innocent look goes straight to my dick, and she can no doubt feel it vying for her attention at her hip.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Brenner. I’m not teaching you anything like that.”
I could be imagining it, but I think for a brief moment she looks disappointed. And f**k . . . I might be making a liar out of myself very soon.
“Lesson number one. Everything wrong in the world is not your fault.”
Her brows furrow.
“I know that.”
“No you don’t. You take everything on yourself. That protest at the shelter. When people weren’t listening, you thought it was your responsibility to make them. Matt getting arrested. I was there . . . I heard you apologizing again and again to him.”
“But he’s my friend, and he—”
“Is an adult who makes his own decisions.”
“But—”
“When I asked you about your breakup with Henry, you shared the blame. Like it was somehow your fault that he’s a f**king idiot. And now you’re apologizing to me, again for something I did. Not you.”
“But—”
“New rule. Every time you apologize, I get to shut you up.”
Her eyes widen. “And how are you going to do that?”
“I’ve got a few ideas.”
She presses her lips together tightly, like she’s worried she might just spontaneously apologize. I grin, enjoying the emotions playing across her face. Nerves. Curiosity. Indignation. Embarrassment.
For the first time in my life, I want to ask her questions, want to dig until I find the thoughts responsible for each of those expressions. Normally, I steer clear of questions. Getting to know a girl just complicates the whole exchange.
I promised Dylan simple. I convinced her that was what she needed, and now I’m starting to think it’s not at all what I want.
Chapter 16
Dylan
Needing a break from the intensity of being this close to him, I awkwardly climb off his lap and say, “I’m going to grab some pillows for you. Is it okay if I go in your room?”
“Go ahead,” he calls back.
I take in a calming breath and scale the stairs. My eyes flick to the restroom door where we kissed for the first time, and the back of my neck flashes with heat. I remember the way his hand had curled there, holding me against him, even though nothing could have made me move away in that moment. He’d done the same thing on the couch downstairs, and part of me had really hoped that was where he was going with that lesson. I blink and shake off the memory. But I can’t get the nerves to flee as I open his bedroom door. I don’t know what I expected to find . . . drug paraphernalia, condom wrappers, dirty clothes.
There’s none of that. The room is clean and neat. Even his bed is made. It’s simple, sparsely furnished with no real decorations, unless you count sports equipment, and a few Rusk mementos. He’s got four pillows on his bed, two on each side, and I grab them all. With them held tight to my chest, I breathe in the scent they carry, clean and masculine with just a little spice.
I take one last look around his room, and imagine how things might have gone differently if I’d followed him in here during the party. Would I ever have seen him again? Would that have been it? Or would that have just been the first of several times, like he’s implied?
I shake my head because I’m being stupid. While I’m up here imagining things that can’t be changed, he’s down there in pain and uncomfortable. I rush down the stairs and back into the living room to find him with his eyes closed. He’s removed the Rusk T-shirt he was wearing earlier, leaving him in just a white, fitted undershirt and his black boxer briefs. I swallow, square my shoulders, and walk up beside him. I drop all of the pillows on the ground but one, and then touch my fingers to his shoulders.
He looks exhausted and I say quietly, “Lean up.”
He plants his hands beside him on the couch and pulls himself a few inches forward. I settle the pillow behind him. I’m still adjusting it when he leans back onto it, so I end up leaning over him, one arm on either side of his head, trying to straighten it so he’s comfortable. I try not to think about how his head is even with my chest, but who am I kidding? It’s all I’m thinking about.
“Now for your legs,” I say. I remove the ice packs and place them on the coffee table. He lifts his feet for me, but only a couple of inches. I hook an arm under his calves to lift them higher so I can fit all three pillows under his knees. I hear him wince, and I pause for a second to look at the swelling before I replace the ice. His thighs are thick and muscled, and his knees are so inflamed that they’re only a little narrower than the rest of his leg. I make sure the hand towels are wrapped neatly around the cold packs, and then place them back where they were.
I look for something, anything else to do. “Blanket?” I ask. I glance around the room and see one tossed on the floor beside a recliner. I pick it up and shake it out as he says, “I’m fine.”
I bring the blanket back over with me, but he turns it down. I hug it closer to me and sink down onto the floor beside him. I lean back against the couch and stare straight ahead.
“I really am sorry. I promise I won’t make you—”
I don’t get the rest of my thought out because he sits up on one elbow, grips the back of my neck, and bends over to cover my mouth with his. His lips are warm, and when I don’t immediately open my mouth, he nips my bottom lip. I suck in a breath, and his tongue sweeps past my lips. My whole body braces for the onslaught that is kissing Silas Moore, but this time, he’s soft and sweet and patient, like we have all the time in the world. When I follow his tongue back into his mouth, he groans. The sound vibrates against me, and the sensation echoes out over the rest of my body. I shiver, and he pulls back until I feel only his breath against me.