The door opens, and my stomach dips at the sight of Nell’s bleary eyes and rumpled hair. She squints at me, and then winces at the sunlight, instinctively taking a step back into the house.
I step in after her without waiting for an invitation, and shut the door firmly behind me.
“I brought coffee,” I say, lifting the tray up into her line of sight.
“Shhh!” She holds one hand up to me and the other to her forehead.
“I think,” she says, her voice raspy, “there’s a herd of elephants in my head.”
“Welcome to the world of hangovers, sweetheart.”
She blinks at me, then says matter-of-factly, “I’m going back to bed.”
She shuffles down the hallway, and I follow her, still holding the coffee carrier and resisting the urge to laugh. Then she swings her bedroom door wide, and doesn’t bother to close it before tumbling headlong into her bed. Again, I take that as permission, closing the door in case Dylan comes home unexpectedly.
Before Nell can slip back into sleep, I force the coffee into her hand.
“Drink a little of this,” I tell her. “It’ll help clear up the headache and nausea.” She doesn’t look like she believes me, but she takes a sip anyway. “Aspirin will help, too, if you have some.”
“Bathroom,” she says, and I go out to the hallway bathroom. I find a bottle in the second cabinet I open.
When I return to her room, she asks, “You find it?”
“I did. Right next to your box of tampons. The things I endure for you, woman.” She rolls her eyes and takes the aspirin, and she drinks about half the coffee before placing the cup on the nightstand and sinking back against her pillows. She must be feeling better because she finally asks the question I’d expected to hear the second she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
I shrug, toe off my sneakers, and throw myself down on the covers on the other side of her bed. She groans when the mattress bounces, but other than that doesn’t complain.
“I knew you’d be miserable this morning ...”
“And you decided that was something you needed to see?”
“I decided I could be of some help. I’ve had more than my fair share of hangovers. When that coffee kicks in all the way, we’ll get you showered and dressed, and then we’ll go out for some greasy breakfast. You’ll be good as new in no time.”
“You’ve done this more than once? Are you crazy? I never want to drink again.”
“Everybody says that. If you don’t, you’re not doing it right.”
“I don’t feel like I did anything right.”
“You checked another thing off your list, didn’t you?”
She throws an arm over her eyes in lieu of an answer, and after a minute or so of silence, she asks, “Why are you really here?”
“I told you, I—”
“If you feel sorry for me because of what happened last night or what I said, don’t. Please. I’d really rather you just leave.”
“I can’t do that. Sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because last time I let you get away from me, you called some giant ginger-bearded monster to get you drunk, and look how well that turned out. Face it. You need me.”
She makes a groan that sounds vaguely laughlike. “Matt is not a monster.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.”
She sighs, and rolls on her side to face me. I suck in a breath because even hungover, she’s beautiful. And that fiery, challenging look in her eyes always goes straight to my cock.
“And if I had wanted to call you?” she asks. “I don’t have your number.”
“You could have just thought of me. I would have known and come running. I’m practically a superhero in that regard.”
“Riiight.”
“Why so disbelieving? Unless you thought of me, and it didn’t work? Were you thinking of me last night, girl genius?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“I thought about you. Even during the game last night when I should have been concentrating on not getting my ass kicked, you kept popping up. I think I might be addicted to you, Antonella De Luca.”
“How do you know my full name?”
“I might have done a little snooping last night while you were out of it. So you were valedictorian in high school, huh?”
“Just how much snooping did you do?”
“Relax. Your list is safe. I promised I wouldn’t read it, and I didn’t.” My eyes drop to her lips, which she keeps pressing together in what I assume is nervousness. “It was tempting, though.”
All of her is tempting, and I should probably get out of this bed right now before I drag her beneath me and remind myself just what her skin tastes like.
Regretfully, I pull myself up to a sitting position and say, “All right, sweetheart. Go shower so we can get breakfast. Unless you need assistance, then I’d be happy to—”
She cuts me off. “No. No, I think I can handle that alone.”
“Pity,” I say. “Well, I’ll be here waiting in your bed in case you change your mind.”
She stands up and faces me, still all cute and rumpled from sleep. “You are so ...” She trails off, and shakes her head, turning for the door instead.
As she heads for the bathroom, I call out, “I’m so what? Charming? Devastatingly handsome?”
“You so better be in the living room by the time I’m done with my shower.”
Damn. I’d been looking forward to seeing her in a towel.
Next time.
Black Ice
