Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“You must feel better,” he said, then yawned while running a hand through his perfectly messy hair.
I nodded. “I do. But you slept on the floor. Are you okay?”
He smirked. “Yeah. My back might beat me up about it some today, but I’ll survive.”
“Why didn’t you sleep on the sofa again?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You were too quiet. No coughing. Nothing. It worried me. I moved closer in case you needed something.”
I had no words for that. I stared at him, trying to figure out why he had been so worried about me. He could have paid someone to come and stay with me. He had people at his beck and call.
“Why did you stay?” I asked him.
He raised his eyebrows slightly. “What? No, Thank you, Dean?”
I sighed. “Of course I am grateful to you. I just don’t understand why you did it.”
He was quiet a moment, then finally shook his head. “You were sick. I was worried. You needed someone. I stayed. That’s it.”
“But you’re Dean Finlay,” I said pointedly. “I can’t imagine taking care of sick people is something you do often.”
“I raised my son. His mother wasn’t much of a mother. When he was sick, she always sent him to me. I know what to do.”
I had read articles about him and his son when I was younger. It was always something the media loved to cover.
Dean Finlay, badass drummer for Slacker Demon, is an exceptional father when he’s not onstage. It was one of many things they’d said about him.
It was something I’d always wondered about, then felt guilty for doubting it.
Him taking care of his son was one thing. I was just … a tenant? A girl he knew? I didn’t know what I was to the man. We were something that would never have a label.
“I’m also really good with pancakes. They’re my specialty. You ready to eat something other than soup?”
He was going to make me pancakes. Maybe I was still sleeping. I hoped not. I really, really hoped not.
“That sounds wonderful,” I replied.
He grinned, obviously pleased. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.” Then, he did one quick scan of my towel-clad body, winked at me, and closed the door.
I took a deep breath, then walked over to the mirror to see how ridiculous I looked. My wet hair was lying flat, which was better than what it had looked like when I woke up. My face was flushed and no longer looked pale. It wasn’t as bad as I had imagined.
Reaching under the cabinet, I pulled out a second towel and began to dry my hair.
He had been here a few days now, and I knew he’d seen the pictures around the house—possibly even Cam’s room—yet he never asked about anything. I wondered if he hadn’t snooped at all. That was impressive, if it was a fact. I wasn’t sure I could have done the same in his position. There was plenty I didn’t want him to see, but I’d been so sick that none of that mattered. I knew, now, it might matter a lot.
I brushed out my hair and continued to dry it. I would worry about this later. I had to get my hair dry and get dressed. After all, Dean Finlay was in my kitchen, making me breakfast. I didn’t need to keep him waiting.
fifteen
dean
She was better. I was making sure she had something to eat, and then I was leaving. Staying here would lead to me doing things I’d regret. Twice, when her fever had gotten high and she’d begun tossing and turning in her sleep, she’d asked about Cam. That was the only thing that kept me grounded.
However, where the fuck Cam was, I didn’t know. Why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he shown up? Not my fucking business.
I would admit, I cared too much where Brielle was concerned. It was more than lust, and I knew that. This was a first for me. Wanting something that wasn’t good for me. Typically, the only wanting I did was for a hot fuck. With her, I enjoyed her company—when she wasn’t being a smart-ass. Oh, who was I kidding? I liked that about her. She had no problem with putting me in my place.
Staying here and seeing how she had made this small apartment so comfortable and homey got to me. That was fucking stupid, and I knew it, but it did give me warm feelings I needed to get over. Her colorful paintings, pictures of her family—or at least, her younger brother—vanilla-scented candles, and mismatched china patterns should not make me feel anything.
The more distance I put between us, the better. She had Cam—wherever the fuck he was—and I had my life. One very different from this apartment. From her world.
I finished placing the last blueberry pancake on the plate and put one pat of butter on top before walking over to the table and setting it down. She could eat this and carry on with her life again. I would make my exit and flush this woman from my system.